New Regime

My eyes stutter at a frivolous hour, 

It’s just that I, 

Now live;

I am demented, 

I cannot trace the warmth;

Of the motherly walls, 

But I do, 

Of the incessant wails,

His skin on mine. 

It is now buried, 

Six feet under,

The cacophony of catatonia. 

We beg, 

To strip from reality,  

Or just the angoisse of freedom, 

You and I, 

We’re animals, 

Made of flesh and bones, 

We don't belong, 

To motherlands, 

Or nullified bonds, 

But we belong, 

To licentious nights;

Darling, 

We belong, 

To the longings. 

We rebel, 

But yet;

A new regime awaits, 

It calls itself;

My lover,

My Sarte, 

And I, 

His Beauvoir.