I.

I’m tired
of abstract movie midnight
features, nothing in particular,
and blue Formica countertops
blend in with all the colours.

II.

I’m hurt,
that I’ve spilled out all the popcorn
in hulls of jagged judgment,
and I can’t express my sorrow,
so tomorrow cannot come.

III.

I’m right
and wrongful at the same time,
in arguments of chess games
played by me, myself and eyebeams,
such bitter self-defeating.