Agoraphobia in the Mezzanine Floor

An unpleasant whiff of perfume
assails my nose in the cold rain.
Neurons flare at their synapses,
coaxing electric sparks that
conspire to conjure images,
pixelated and crystalline :
of surgical masks, long lonely
schoolroom corridors, miserable
rain-drenched birds, metal clips
to pry my sleepy eyelids open.

A herd of people, unseeing,
with grinning saccharine faces;
business men with confident airs,
office girls with decisive gaits,
couples full of themselves,
pass me by, my translucent, naked
form, motionless on the bridge,
sentient with muffled numbness.

Was it October 1st, Tokyo,
when the sky was an angry
vanilla gray, that I met You?
Or was it one midsummer night,
in the middle of a sepia-tinted
dream about forgotten memories?
It scarcely matters now.
I could renounce You, here and now,
by these Dalmatian chalk cliffs;
let You go with the crowds.
And go back to Life without visions,
Life with its wormlike crawl,
Life unsoftened at the edges,
Life in the trenches of Liege.

The dark abysses of fear,
lurk beneath these chalk cliffs :
like vast empty spaces between
those Tokyo towers, where
bits of sky are trapped, and
baked to solid impenetrability.
Fear stalks me.

What's Your next blow going to be like?
A passionate act : a mad racing car
to charge me down? Or something
more drawn out : gradual strangulation
perhaps? Or something more spectacular :
A cool nick would suffice at the jugular.
Or something with more dramatic import :
a cyanide-laced French kiss maybe?
Something more discreet : a careless nudge
and let gravity curl me into an easy arc.
Come what may : I am prepared,
ready for a duel by the bridge,
resigned to Death, dissolution, crowds
..........and You.