Passing, always passing:
People I wish I'd met,
Met long before their passing.

I take a crash course in their existence,
Personal history, wishes and outcomes
Scribbled for a rudimentary assessment.

They are but scrappy souvenirs,
Notes that barely scratch the surface
Of lives that cannot be summarised.

Passing, always passing:
People I wish I'd met,
Met long before their passing.

The Narcissist's roof caves-in as delusions collapse into reality.

When has this man-child ever had to face reality before?

I love the smell of inevitability in the morning.

I have placed my childhood bibles (that aren't Bibles) on your bookshelf; hidden them in plain sight. A cheap subliminal trick I know, but one meant as an investment in time and knowledge: to peck away at your curiosity like the Woodpeckers I hope you'll read about in that Illustrated Encyclopedia of Birds, which to you, right now, is just a jumbo colouring book too heavy for your restless hands.

Irrelevant years of existence
Vast drowned numbers
Swimming with the fishes
Your blue-hypnotic drowns my eyes
Offering nothing

I dive into your cold embrace.

As I type
My body is investigating
A tiny fraction of a tiny virus
That has conquered a world.

His mind's pained pleas echo
The brain's chosen words fragment
Inside his closed mouth