By Lilian Wairimu

As he sits, shaping his lips to an imagined love heart,

His head droops down

Down; is it the heavy thoughts or the drink before him,

Stretching his hand,

A snap of his fingers to showcase that he is part of the conversation;

Head; too heavy

Heaviness, a concept too familiar or is it a stranger that knocks often;

Here we go again;

Rollercoaster it is, my ticket cannot go to waste, he convinced himself:

I am a man; I sire humans; I am a man.

Last thoughts as he pukes his mind away,

A gentle hand rubbing his back…

Be strong, it will be well the gentle whispers reach his ears;

“One more drink!!” The whisper turns to a shout,

Gently rubbing…

Rubbing, offering, sense of security?!?

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