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Sam Greig-Mohns Mar 2020
The train is full of strangers

I am not looking at them yetI know they are there
Bodies pressed close to mine
Eyes closed I breath in their lives

Old leather shoes, perfume, hair gel and peach lotion

The stranger in front of me smells of a wet January afternoon
Cold and sharp, yet with a familiar damp mustiness that lingers in his absence
To his left is an early morning breakfast smell
Oatmeal and sugar
Brown sugar with heavy caramel undertones that melt into the memory

He steps past Wet January, past Hair Salon and steps off
Wet January follows on his heels while Hair Salon remains , now on my right

We are joined by English Sitting Room, he is made of cigar smoke and wooden matches, leather arm chair and stone fireplace, beside him is Darkened Movie Theatre and Old Gym Bag

Everyone shuffles; hive minded away from Old Gym Bag
Hair Salon is muttering.
English Sitting Room rustles a newspaper
Movie Theatre brushes my shoulder, apologizes and disappears.

I wish, vaguely to ask what I might seem to them in my own internal context if only to satisfy the slow bubbling curiosity that wells up in me from some deep hidden place

But my stop has come and I am stepping off now
Knowing my existence will pass silently from their thoughts all together as soon as the doors close behind me

Goodbye Hair Salon and English Sitting Room
Farewell Old Gym Bag, until next we meet if ever again
Sam Greig-Mohns Feb 2019
It’s to loud here
There is to much happening

Everywhere I turn the sound is finding crevasses
Seeping through like rain water
A downpour of noise
It trickles in faster then I can bail it out again
Filling everything

I have no room to think here
The air is made of harp strings all vibrating in a different tone
Shaking all thought right from my head

Enough, this has to stop...
I draw back behind my walls
An island of silence

I watch people slip past my guarded coastline
They call to me

My eyes flick lines of morse code to them
But they are far to busy being loud to hear the soft tick tick of my conversation

I sit alone to watch a muted sunset
Static lapping against my toes in frothy waves
But I don’t hear a thing

Finally, it is quiet
Sometimes the world just feels far to busy for me
Sam Greig-Mohns Oct 2018
I lived in a glass house once... it was perfect
perfect walls... perfect floors... perfect ceiling...
...always perfect... but never happy

that's what happens though isn't it?
when you live in the idea that your life should be scrutinized by strangers
when your life, becomes their life

Don't throw stones they say
Don't break down those perfect walls, perfect floors, perfect ceiling
Don't shatter our expectations of you

I threw stones
this is my life.. not yours
Sam Greig-Mohns May 2018
when every mirror holds but a fractured selection of truths
which ones do you trust?
who is left to say what side once said This way up

or is every moment just a chance encounter.. rolling dice without numbers
over.. and over.. and over
until we land mirrored side up
smiling.. or not

or not

I'm not asking for sense.. just direction
so I can move forward
rather then just roll over
Sam Greig-Mohns Nov 2017
There are no strings on these balloons
so instead lets just drift together
even if it's only for a moment
I'll be here with you
until you just
fly away
the choice is always yours to make but this is mine
Sam Greig-Mohns Nov 2017
"They took my mom off life support"

That was how our conversation started
My friend cried
he never cries...

I just stare back at him
feeling nothing, but I am crying too

My brain is re-enacting an action without meaning

copy, paste
copy, paste
copy, paste

We cry together

He hugs me and I hug him back
I think how hot he feels
like a fever of grief

His tears are soaking through my shirt, collecting against my skin and sliding down
one by one towards my heart

I can't feel anything anymore... just him
I want to, but I can't... or won't

I know I have all the right words filed away for such a situation

Cue card apologies
Voice recordings in my head on repeat
Other peoples words... not mine

I'm so sorry
I'm so sorry
I'm so...
I'm not sorry

I'm sad for you...
yes... that belongs to me
that I can say

We hug again
He feels like a wildfire against my cold exterior

I'm so sorry
I'm so sorry
I'm... tired of all the pretending

My feelings are currency without value here
so I keep them hidden

I'm not sorry
I can't be
It's not my fault
never was

Cancer can't be my fault, and my currency
well, we both know it has no value to buy back those tears

So, no... I'm not sorry
Those are someone else's words
a very good friend lost his mother to cancer after being diagnosed only 4 months earlier, though it was the way people calmly approached and apologized to him for his loss with slack emotionless faces that inspired this work
Sam Greig-Mohns Mar 2016
Don't stop
don't think
just walk

A step at a time

Don't look up
don't speak
eyes down and lifeless

Keep moving

Don't see the danger
don't question it
just walk

Right off the edge
you're one of them now
one of us now

There's no turning back

You're one of the herd now
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