The Drip

By T.L. Coston

A plague, I say, this tormentor of mind and thought

This darkness whispers transgressions; inconsequential rot

He caresses my brow; evoking distant slights

Exhuming memories entombed, forgotten … cast-off.

Thief!  Raider of sepulchres! Ghoul feeding off misery and discontent!

You prey upon my conscience with soulless intent

This drip, drip, drip laced with a Chinaman’s laugh

Provokes self-recriminations; embarrassing gaffes

Alone, in restaurants, in public places

Your touch - your evil doesn’t discriminate

A flash, a cry, then a subtle glance

Hoping and praying no one heard my penitence

Pedestrians startled by this damnable quirk

Pick up pace and disappear with furtive concern

Oh, you enjoy making me look the fool

A madman one step from the rubber room.

Drip, you’re a monster, be thy named

I firmly declare, you will not win at this game

Though you  may haunt taped corridors,

My sanity firmly bars that cursed door