Afternoons to Nights

It is Valentines.

Working from home,
the monotony
has been strangulated mercilessly.

There is the absence of this world,
the air today smells like gasoline floating in
the fresh rain-wet grass.

My Universe is now out of the closet,
out of its hangovers like a horse
ready to tame the winds.

James Hetfield keeps telling me
through the speakers:
and I am Unforgiven too.

Maybe we all are for reducing
ourselves to squeaking mannequins
displayed to the world as relics
of over-flowing mannerisms,
to be sold to the highest bidder
who shall bring us out as a war chest
in times of insecurity.

Its Valentines, my love
Just go out
and fucking love yourself to death
before it is too late.

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