Midnight Melancholy and Nightshifts
I found myself in my creature car.
I was cornered in the passenger seat
And I heard your song over the radio
And you spoke to me your phrases.
You asked me why I didn’t love you,
You demanded my virulent thoughts.
You asked me to think of the stupid things I’ve said,
And to consider the stupid things I’ve done.
You asked me to turn the wheel,
Straight into your bleeding heart.
You asked me if that’s how I’d like to hide,
Or if perhaps, I had done enough hiding.
You asked me if I’d like to follow the curves of trees,
And sit upon points of grass,
Or to keep on trudging with weary boots-
You asked if my soles should slip from under my feet.
You said, remember me.
I see you in my waking dreams, my dear.
I see your blue skin reflecting against my angled ceiling,
As you stand there laughing in my mouth.
And I ask you, why? Why me?
What have I done?
And you respond with three words.
All I can hear is a buzz from your lachrymose lips,
As you slip further and further into the recesses, into the corners of my aching head.
Speak to me
Do not laugh,
Do not cry,
©2020 Quentin Forberg All rights reserved.
Quentin Forberg is a young writer from Chicago, Illinois. His first work, For Februus In Hiding was published in 2018 by Tree District Books. I want to break a dark fiction novella, is now available on Amazon.