i

It is a street that never

Ends, ground tarmac

Black against a blue sky

Houses with low roofs

Straightforward, stretched,

Also the same

Welcome to the suburbs,

There are two kinds of mailboxes

One with the last name Smith,

And one with the last name Brown.

ii

You are a child in the middle of this

Road. You are sure the moment

You step forward you are making a choice,

Even though the path only goes forward

Here. Either you step off the road

Or follow in his tracks.

iii

So many possibilities. You choose

To decline them all. You weren’t

Supposed to see a lot of things,

But that’s not how we were made

We have eyes. Other things

Use other senses.

iv

Each house looks the same.

Lemonade, picnics, a simple

Life. Raise children,

Obedient ones. Also, urban

Areas. Neon lights.

Less children. You know each

Chapter has a location.

You choose not to write,

But time passes. People are waiting

For the book.

v

You are counting. You are

Playing a game. Numbers

Drop one by one.

Tink and drip. You open your

Eyes. Where is everyone?

vi

First it looks more like a dream.

You wish it was one. Flat tarmac road.

Women drinking lemonades, young

Girls trying on new nail polishes in the

backyard.

Boys playing sports. Then night. Not

a single light in

A single window. Beep. Wake up.

vii

You look behind every chair, search

Every corner, open every drawer

Ready or not here I come,

You said. Looks like they were all

Ready without you. You see

The hands on the clock moving. After

Awhile you cry because you’re a child.

You can’t pull apart imaginary

And friend.

viii

It wasn’t supposed to be like this

Everyone else looks happier.

You know you only live once.

You’ve already exhausted simple pleasure

And knowledge cut into old wounds

Then you tried consuming yourself

The taste of a human mind

Was like that of ash.

ix

Show me where it hurts,

She said. At first

You don’t know where,

Then you point to your

Elbow. She kisses your knee.

x

You have bruises

There was time

You spent trying to

Heal them.

As in, time wasted.

Your mother always said

Every wound is just preparation

For the next.

As in, later on you go numb.

You shut yourself off,

You say words like

Sentimental and

…