Butterflies flit

Leaving shivering leaves in their wake

Water drips tense like sweat

And air holds its breath

Willing all noise to quiet down


I did notice earlier

And I am wondering now

Did they pre-empt my condition?


Contrary to popular belief

Pointlessness is a calm feeling

Only negative.

The loneliness, solid in its intensity

Weighs me down, its lead boots to my head


White noise funnels into me

Hollowing out instead of filling

The certainty, the singleness

Of that settling sadness

Like drying concrete.


My world zooms into my loneliness

It is fade out for everything else.

It is nothing more than a feeling

My feeling, because outside I see

I see the world go on around me


Go on like nothing changed

And my life, the entirety of my years

Compresses into a lead ball, the size of a pill

Heady with side effects.


It makes my tongue thick

And my voice echo

It twists my legs and hurts my throat.

I feel everything and then suddenly



I look around and I recognise afterlife

But sadly for you its

“Authorised Personnel Only” from here on.


Funeral Blues By W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

The Name Is Shadow

Seated in the mighty throne
This sun, singularly potent like the other
Giving and taking lives at His will
Fortune and Prosperity mere fair weather friends.

Brave were his choices;
He acknowledged loneliness
Accepted his part of
being understood a tyrant
And played it to perfection.

Alone the emperor performed
In that supreme stage of power
Lone in his decisions which lurked
Faceless and terrible, eluding spotlights.

When clouds of grey showed themselves
He rose-regal and elegant-off his throne
Among the silence that rained down like silk
With his only aide, the name was Shadow.