SOLITUDE

Trips to the Lunar and back jaunting through half smoked stubs.

Peals of laughter crashing over waves of silence. Following one another through and through.

Dreams gathering dust and smoke on the rafters where rats and cockroaches have taken to  whispering and sniggering.

My company in days spent wistfully before Loice, my laptop. Furiously typing away,  dreams of my future, of stories untold.

My grandfather told me of his days lumbering in Tanzania. Lost in jungles sawing through forests to the melodic singing of birds and mean hissing snakes.

My grandfather told me of the softness of  woman after a long day spent hauling timber and breathing saw dust.

In a room permeated with cigarette smoke and weed stubs, the smell of our sweat and lovemaking screams for attention.

Her hair in my face. I try to extract myself from beneath her where I am straddled cowboy. I can't. Riding behind her ecstatic screams, sleep had followed on wings of exhaustion.

I light a half smoked joint one handed, brush her hair out of my face and peer at the rats playing hide and seek through a film of smoke.

 Halos of dusk streak in in lazy orange colors to remind me of evening.Of yet another day spent in stupor. Thinking up plots, tripping, shredding them, forgetting them.

She wakes up and takes the stub from my hand. A long drag later, "What time is it?" "Three minutes to seven," "Oh shit oh shit,” my mum will be home by now." She starts looking for her pants under the bed.

Darkness creeps in with her departure, the rats are growing bold.

Jaunts in Technicolor, town lights illuminate my room in hues of stars. Lying there staring at the sounds of rats and darkness, I realize,

The Morning sun has become a stranger.

@mossetti