Under a Facade

 

Sunday morning. Break from routine,

coffee and flowers in the jardin

breathing, asking who I am

shaved my sensible skin

cut my cheek, blood - the real deal.

Autumn is framed by thick rain

blackbirds seek shelter under the bed

smell of wet grass, not hot croissant

annoying flys circle around my head,

a habitué i'm eager to assassinate.

Days went by without seeing the sun

screen device, I abstain from your facade

reality bites between your hands.

Planning my grand escape

learning my ways by getting hurt

time to decide between potatoes and eggs,

nothing matters when there's a target to aim.

Weather drifts inside the house

fake indifference to foreign lines,

though everyone dresses nice

put a show when the guest arrives.