the sunrise

they speak in tongues.
blurred hums
that i cannot silence.
i'll stay away.
sexual intercourse
with a cyborg:
a casual routine
and pleasure.
i treasure and loathe
every last moment
before i come
out of my rabbit hole
hiding. above ground
a flood is in tide.
"retreat"
the admiral calls.
to dry safety we go,
until the next morning.
the sunrise: we don't watch,
but always trust.
the slightest gust of wind
will banish all hope.
our stomachs ache,
so we feed them dope.
close our ears,
forget the droning.
alone we sit.

-andrew worthington