The Dirty Mirror, A Tune to Sing, and FLASH

I hum to myself quietly
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive
Stayin’ alive.

As I hum, other coffee-drinkers turn to stare
Their eyebrows arched with matching smirks dancing upon their cracked lips.

Man, I’m sick of the poetic nonsense.
I’m tired of the gory details being written,
Spinning the tales from my life into broken wisps of straw.

I’m tired of the superfluous words spilling from the tips of my fingers,
Telling tales that creep into my sleeping subconscious at the witching part of the night.

Love, he shakes me.
Wake up, he pleads.
My eyes are half-closed as I whimper and shiver in his arms
As he whispers prayers into my ears.

Flash.
I gave everything for you, a man screams.
I gave my body for my country and you disgrace me
A slap across her face vibrates across the room
Blood slowly seeping from her left-nostril as she remains on her knees
Quaking and sore from the wooden floorboards
Flash.

I’m awake, I’m awake, I tell him
Quietly turning to the side of my bed and humming
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive
Stayin’ alive.

My mind drifts between sleep and reality
Flash.

A man holds her arms against the slashed seats in a broken shitty car.
She struggles, pushing him off her body
And he arches his eyebrow, lifts his finger to his pulsing lips
Shh, he whispers.
Her mind loses consciousness and she falls quietly.
Flash.

I can’t write anymore,
The talents and long-assed descriptions are slipping away from my mind
Like wet soap in a long and distant dirty bathtub.

When I grasp the story soap,
It slips from me across the tub
Dancing across as if a taunt

Do you pity yourself?
Do you victimize yourself?

I scream at myself in the cracked mirror
Stop being so self-absorbed
Stop being so depressed, so selfish

Come, I fling at myself
Write some more poetry about twirling belts across your bottom
Some more poetry about your refugee parents
Some more about the war, the dead relatives, the poverty.

I fling the soap at the mirror, snarling
Who do you think you are?
Spilling your poetic nonsense and superfluous words at innocent readers

No.
I grasp the edges of the sink, squint at the fogged mirror,
And look at myself hard.

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive
Stayin’ alive.