the cursor blinks
precariously on the doorstep
of the internet

she stares blankly at
the white screen
illuminating her face in
the darkness of the room the
only other light being
the faint glow of the moon in the
far window too blurry to be
wished.

when she was small she
was scared of the dark
scared of who was there
who was hiding

but she’s older
now so she should be braver because
only babies are scared of darkness

the cursor mocks her
in the search bar

she looks around as
if making sure no
one
is watching

as she reaches the
keys typing out her
sorrows
"who am i?"

the mouse wavers over
the magnifying glass

waiting to
open the rusty gate with
a key of curiosity

but the fog beyond
may darken the
the streets

and may poison
puddles
with the foul
smell of
uncertainty


she closes her eyes
and presses delete.

It all started in March with
the people on television claiming
that it will be back to
normal in three months but
now it’s  here for
it’s first birthday  as I watch in
horror as the death toll rises from
nearly zero to half a million and the
stupid curve never deflating i’m
sick and tired of people being sick and
tired and “forgetting” that humans are
dying as if it's okay to go out just because
you’re some kind of ******* celebrity why
can’t you understand that the
world doesn’t
revolve around you i
stand helpless while
corporations boast that we’re “all
in this together” when we’re
not because unlike me you can
make a difference but yet you
sit on a throne made of
cash while essential workers struggle to
breathe their mask digging into their
skin tears dripping onto seagreen scrubs
i’m starting to
think that the real
virus is
you.

in a blink,
the clock hand whirls
a baby gains wrinkles and white hair
soon to leave the earth
leaving no traces behind,
like their ancestors before them
while plastic bags live on in landfills.

talk till you’re hoarse
waiting the roof to crash down
in a room
of invisible people
who have moved onto something else.

people will leave and go
like how the sun rises and falls each day.
good things never last forever.

older, busier,
year after year,
no time for childish wonder
pulled down with the burden of responsibility.

it will soon trickle down to me.
what time do i have left?

when people i know start their journey,
will i want to stay?
will i be the same?

drenched in a place of nostalgia,
filled with bittersweet longing
and past friendships, rotting in time.

one day i will leave,
like my predecessors before me,
with a briefcase stuffed with memories.
which soon will be lost in the depths of time
within the twisting path
of life.
_