Saturday 19 October 2019

At the News of Your Death




My heart hangs like humidity in the air cloying, 
compressed, confused
My armpits are pouring with sweat and my brow drips
It's not the closeness of the air that does this. The vista 
of my future 
fractures, shards of dreams raining 
down
Past and present rendered 
futile
My perceptions questioned and the vanity of my intentions laid 
bare for all to mock
All my harsh words shouted in advertisement. My kind words 
silent and deleted
The apology that would heal this wrong stuck like cold 
porridge in my throat, 
too late 
to be delivered.



MDC

September 2019

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