And if you that night had swung,
say, from a rope tied to the rafter…
What then? Would I have lived
like the dead, long years
piled high in dust… Until,
when? Friend,
I’m dying.
O, sterile!
Wind. I saw
myself in the mirror,
mile a minute.
Going for it, you. You
ask for it, you do.
Would I live
my days in that
first floor flat
in London…Friends
dead, or gone
to some
other hole they call
home. It hurts,
yes it does.
25/10/15
Emotion unleashed here. Powerful and challenging.
thanks John. Hope you got my private message. struggling to get the hang of this site. none of my comments hav e come through. only my replies.