Noah by Osman Naeem

In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

The contents in a plate composed of a decomposing mashed potato hallucinogenic salad and carcinogenic beer stains that had soaked the velvet sheet which slipped off the bed onto the carpet
Oozed through the spaces between Noah’s toes as he took a step and walked butt naked with a limp towards the shower
Drunk on deep space dilemmas and the intense scent of lingerie that lingered through his nostrils and made its way to his brain
As a twist of the tap sent rusty water gushing down to replace the dirt he tried to scrub off from between the wrinkles on his face
He closed his eyes and held his breath as consciousness began to squeeze in alongside alcohol and nostalgia, it was his fortieth birthday
And drops of water met the redness that clotted inside the crack on the marble below, distorting the sound of the radio playing Bohemian Rhapsody
He pulled out a fragment of glass that he’d stepped on and blood rushed from a flooded head to the tip of his pinky toe
With every breath of air that he took in, he exhaled life and stared at his hands that now felt older as they began to melt

Well renowned for leaving his audience spell bound with just a click of the fingers at the speed of sound
Reliving each and every day that got him this far, unsure if he was witnessing his life flash before his eyes
Reminiscing the times he spent sleeping on abandoned hardwood floors with a jar of fireflies, being  a vagabond, being spat out and being all alone without a home
The struggles, the troubles, till his life was no longer monochrome and his guardian angel quit singing in a monotone
They said he was possessed and had to be exorcised, the deacon said his demons grew fat because they never exercised
So he eloped with the devil and the ones who raised him now hoped to hear him declared dead
He began dwelling in neon caves, calling out lioness cubs for applause and a loaf of meat to eat, in a place he called home territory just like a lion in the Serengeti
He made friends with the seven deadly sins, but they gave his life a purpose and gave him bigger wings
They rusted his cheek bones but made him smile and destined him to bigger things
To be seated on the throne of the forbidden kingdom, but etched on the heart, it was more than a symptom
How could being here be right? With all these pink thongs a dollar bill upsurge
To be in love with no one, and no reason to soul search
To have nothing to lose, and no reason to feel cornered
To be unsure of life being perfectly normal, and no fear of being bipolar
But as he stepped out to grab a towel no longer did he feel any older, he was all sober and the guilt trip was now over

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