IT’S LIKE

The ask what it is like to live
in a closet. I say it’s like
A long jail sentence,
life taken for no reason.
60 years of no penance
dreams terminated in its prime.

Like hot pepper washed down with a glass of coke
like a glass of hot water flavoured with paprika and chilli
like the colour red left too long in the african sun

Like loud rock and roll music at a country funeral
like an out of tune piano on a sappy sunday morning
like a stormy night thunder when your partner is out drinking

Like a wounded lion in the cave of a pack of hyenas
like a bull seeing red across the fence
like the cry of a man locked in a dark cage

Like burning cake in an empty house.
like the favourite meal of a murdered child to his mother
like a dirty toilet to the eyes of a full bladder
like the perfume of a cheating lover to a broken heart

like broken glass beneath a bended knee
like thorns hidden in a lover’s roses
like eyelash and sand in your eyes
like a six feet tall man with a red eye
like a house mate with a long knife

like a rough wall in a narrow path
like a bumpy road to a cemetery
like an empty house with a mad mate.

The ask what it is like to live
in a closet. I say it’s like
A long jail sentence,
life taken for no reason.
60 years of no penance
dreams terminated in its prime.
@kayo Logun

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