a rat scuttles from one room to the other

in the psychiatric clinic.

just because i saw it out of the corner

of my eye i feel that it snuck out

of my own head.

it will sign the sixheaded painting

with droppings and snuggle into the couch

and be a lamp in someone's sleep.

an attendant, while leaving, says goodbye

to the other. then, near the gates, she turns

and says goodbye again, and i think that

a second goodbye is not a goodbye at all:

it is a small opposite of itself:

it is an attempt to see again.

i want to get out of here before the rat

comes back which is the reason why i came

here in first place.

i'm thinking of second goodbyes:

to the rat, to the pills, and to you,

and how they're not goodbyes at all.

~ ajay

23/9/2024