CONTACT AD.

CONTACT AD.
sneak rejection.

Half asleep in Coma State.
Through ignorance we learn to hate.
I fought for sleep, I lost the plot.
I'll face the day with eyes blood-shot.
No time to shave or check my hair.
I grab my keys and mobile stare.
A chilling breeze on blank facade.
Words so soft from lips so hard.
Small-talk practised with each stride.
From passers-by I try to hide.
Conversing in my muddled head.
I advertise the living dead.
A walking, talking sham of man.
From contact ad to old trashcan.
My blind date with made-up name?
Free and easy, lack of shame.
And by mistake I match his need.
He checks me out and it's agreed.
He likes my look. His ideal mate!
A private ad. A mass debate.
A great mistake. My stomach sinks.
He could be the missing link.
A vagrant whore with rancid tongue.
To make contact would be so wrong.
I faked my life and wandered home.
Flashing lights on answer-phone.
I punch 'Delete' and hit the sheets,
to dream of gods on other streets.

Sneak technique.