I am unbeing I have thought myself into it Into unbeing I am like flotsam Floating out across the ocean I am real, not real You can try and pluck me from the water But I will slip from your grasp Because I have ceased to be I hide under the duvet And there is form and shape But there is no matter here I puff and I pant with my hand between my legs Just so I feel something But if I touch no one And no one touches me Am I real In here, in the morass of Nowhere and everywhere I have somehow made myself disappeared I am unbeing. And I cannot find a way back. If you like it, hit the button.
There's an echo of movement, In these tired limbs A sense of where they've once been Of maybe what they once did We are wedged here in limbo Between the living and the dead Between the dead and the nearly dead We struggle through the day Buoyed by a silence A screaming moment Free of the sound of sirens Before they blast out into the night again And then In the darkness of the Autumn All of it It, Re-sounds The noise again and again Louder And loudening Out across the landscape An echo of a time we thought past But the dead are walking towards us again Silently, fearful, Clutching at breath We are bound, gagged, chained Enslaved to these silent horrors They happen outside of us Yet stain the inside somehow Scarring us in words we cannot find The tap of keys on a keyboard That is not a voice It is an artifice Without being heard And somewhere a heart beats Beats Beats Beats And stops And its not the noise that resonates with us It is the silence Echoing outwards Ever closer Towards us. And we are not delivered.