The Vice-textured Silhouette Of A Man: A Poem

Scroll down to content

I ran away from your death.

It had no language. Just oppression.

Silent satisfaction, wordlessness, disorientation.

You were still in that room.

The smoke in the old furniture. The hair that had fallen out.

Lying on the floor, your skin and dust, the scent in my nose.

A memory that cuts into the flesh.

 

I considered you a saviour, there were good things about you too.

Now I almost feel like I could never have known who you were.

Who held me, standing behind me.

Whose scent I inhaled without a doubt.

You left a yellow taste behind.

 

I talked to you with my head against the door.

Shoving notes through the slot.

Staring at the moon, holding on to the darkness

In my room. Thinking you’re there.

To get me maybe. Everything felt unsavoury.

I was convinced that death stood in the corner that night.

The shape of you, your body, stiff, open-mouthed,

Eyes wide open, trying to comfort me in

Unwelcome ways.

Never did the turning of a key feel better.

black and white blur child children
Photo by Matheus Bertelli on Pexels.com

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: