there are three pairs of eyes wondering where
I get my strangeness from,
mine, yours and the world's.
their sight is not loud but it’s deafening to
the once soft concrete my skin was made of.

1.
mine are mad that I’m mayhem on a saturday evening
and that their erotic vandalism is kept afar.
they never talk, they never act
they watch me drown in my own mistakes
but nothing happened yet.
and once I'm out the door, they start to ache
they've seen me here before so many times,
I sip and I break. I walk and I shake.
they never talk, they never act,
they want me unaware.

2.