Imbibe Me with Your Melancholy | Chidalu Emy-Munonye

Photo by Akshar Dave🌻 on Unsplash

Imbibe me with your eternal melancholy.
I want to feel something,
even if it is pain.
Maladaptive daydreams
Gawk at material reality.
Escapism turned tangible
When the sheep march in front of me;
I count my darlings amongst them as they surrender to complacency.
A cynical postmodernist am I,
Not by my own choices,
But my lack thereof
Emotion, Feeling, Fullness, A reeling
Head and heart,
That fervor which we once possessed.
For all my contemplative aims
I could never attain it.


Imbibe me with your eternal melancholy.
A field strung with broken bodies,
A young boy broken,
Formulated to entertain me.
Moral ambiguity has never been uglier
Then in saturated lights and a handheld DSLR.
I can not blame everything on media consumption,
But all we know how to do is consume.
We display the affectations of nausea and disgust
Upon learning of the newest earthly act of malevolence.
When self-inflicted heartbreak gives rise to reflux,
Right there! The evidence of care;
It comforts the global conscience.
Is it righteous indignation
Or just indigestion?
I am sick.
Deathly sick of imitation,
Emulation of emotion,
Falsehoods cloaked in the familiar.
Genuine sentimentality laid fallow,
Waiting on its restoration date,
Forever across the horizon.


Imbibe me with your eternal melancholy.
Revive my primordial lust for life

Or kill the concept entirely.
It was annexed from me by those who are not like me;
Parallelism is an impetus of our times,
Much more than a sign.
Signifiers and identifiers
Of that which I refuse to lay claim.
Representations of the indistinguishable
Barring me from something as pagan as pain,
Something as sinful as shame,
Something as jarring as joy.
Teach me to feel
So that we might turn the page.
Teach me to live
So that the sun might sting my face.
Teach me to cry.
Do not allow my soul to be erased.

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