a puddle forming
a sentence left unfinished
a dish best served cold
every breath my last
and every step a tightrope
don’t make me do it
wake up sleepy head
forget the past fifteen years
today is the day
the plane dips and rocks
the vast desert beneath us
how did i get here?
i’m in a sitcom
i’m swimming in the harbour
my limbs lose function
the vile creature writhes
a limbless mass of wet flesh
convulses and spits
having faith in doubt
all metaphysical thought
stems from fear of death
circular logic
you can’t concede to yourself
this isn’t over
a puddle forming
a sentence left unfinished
a dish best served cold
the water wont stop
despite how i turn the taps
i found it like this
i’m not welcome here
i have nowhere else to go
scratching at the door
laugh and weigh that up
against what’s in the mirror
all our faults are one
having faith in doubt
all metaphysical thought
stems from fear of death