Knocks & Sleeping

I'm bothered by the likes of you. You who I've come to know as someone of incredible worth. Someone who knocked on my door with a knock knock proposal - armed with your syrupy hurrah - to fight fierce the frown delirium and bring me out of the yellow dread of the doldrums sanctum that sits at the top of the stairs. "I'm only sleeping" I'd say but it's to you only and only you I admit I'm not sleeping at all. Knock Knock.

I'm bothered by the likes of you. For that one night I chose not to Yummy Buffet beside you. You spoke of an ill I committed - "But it's not even like that . . ." I try to sayve trailing - you puffed, then huffed and turned away from me, back to your table, to your food. From out of "sleeping", out of yellow, past that door, down those steps - I'm left alone standing. The girl with the syrupy hurrah gone with only her back to me seen. Another bright yes beyond my door wala na. So it's a return to yellow I step up with the claim "I'm only sleeping."

But even sleep in these past few days is hard to come by.

Because so bothered am I by the likes of you I struggle massive to hide, closed eyes, mind silent, inside slumber and away from hearing your haunting knocks on my door. The past joy of seeing your incredible worth lingers steady. It's a constant that jabs my head mocking, "She's still there." But you're not there. You sit away from me, so far away from me with a back turned, your cheer shown anywhere but here. What's left is the ghost of your incredible worth knocking on my door. Knock Knock. Knock Knock Knock.

Why am I so god damn bothered by the likes of you?

It's because I . . .