I sit betwixt the laughters,
The margins in between,
Moments unnoticed,
Those easily ignored.
Attention is drawn to instance,
But must be dragged to dereliction.
Worming within words woven,
Cowering in the safety of kissed teeth,
Solace secured as someone scrutinises how to silence the silence,
Grateful for the respite.
Squeels from the pit of my stomach,
Causing only echoes back from my tongue,
Trickling crude treacle, trawls south back through my throat,
Finding no refinement, reclaims residence in my centre.
Waiting to rejoin the cycle and another all clear for launch.
Traceless transaction as interactions lapse,
The regenerative amnion of your “awkward silence”,
Perspectives polarised,
Unwittingly burying me in the hole you endeavour to fill,
Unable to comprehend the precipitous crevasse simple shovelling could not plug.
The ever exhausting pantomime,
forcibly cast.
So I take shelter in intermission,
Where no one need pretend,
At peace in my own trenches,
As unpleasant as it seems.
No need to scale the embankments for a fool’s run at no man’s land.
Though still a subterranean prison,
The siren call of Stockholm glistens in the gloom.
My magpie’s eye lays yellow bricks forward,
Through a self destructive syndrome,
Easing the path with each retreat.
Remortgaging contentment,
Time and time again.
Addicted to appeasing that tidal will: subconscious.
Welcome the bailiffs later,
To collect debts of regret,
Postponed event horizons,
When I’ve no injunctions left.
If only absence bellowed as loud as laughter.
You would hear me.
