3am (Displaced)

Darkness shrouds an outwardly silent trek,

a clandestine escape from illicit warmth

The inner bookkeeper diligently makes tally,

foreboding an irreconcilable compact.

Thrill and trepidation intermingle,

uncomfortably repudiating the other.

Neon lights eclipse the stoic wet tarmac -

Two sides of the one cursed coin, forged

in anguish and misplaced entitlement.

Wharf setting: serene and unsettling

bereft of stabilising human trace.

Familiar dark shadows grow longer,

and nearer, each time the path trodden.

Hollowing lethargy greets my arrival…

No prodigal son, repentantly returning.

The harbour, lit and patient, offers no solace,

self-doubt, steep price of pleasure -

(un)knowingly resigned to curated fate.