Death is a cloud
A familiar feeling - the haze
Or bubble that keeps you within
Floating around in autopilot.
Like a West End actor,
It’s something you’ve rehearsed.
That’s why you don’t crash,
Or mess up your lines.
Meaningful greeting during the mâtiné
Thanking people, for paying their dues and watching the show.
An inverted soliloquy I preform -
but not of my own thoughts
just the script.
We’ve played this scene before
To be or not to be
Not, the practiced path.
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 11:19 AM UTC
Forget about the time that we spent wasting
eating takeaway,
sharing our firsts.
Whilst your family slept upstairs,
chancing our luck, hoping that
your brother didn’t burst through the door.
But I’d lie staring at the ceiling,
trying to figure out the feeling
I knew was somewhere inside of me;
a hole forming in the pit of my stomach,
chained by dedication to our firsts.
As it happened, I didn’t have to act.
Or perhaps I did.
Getting the monkey off my back.
And the last time I saw you:
Picking up my belongings in the dark.
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 9:35 AM UTC