Perhaps?

Whenever I resist,

the world pulls back harder,

a gravitational force I cannot control;

it tugs at my soul like a dead weight.

Perhaps it is, and I am, or not?

Though the questions

materialise like blizzarding snowflakes,

the answers are less forthcoming,

one cannot see the clouds in the background,

but one can feel them.

When life is lived as a ghost,

the rest of the world a brazen solidity,

I fear, for then the chains are strongest

and the heart they’re bound to, least.

They say pain is in the mind,

yet my mind is vivid:

Is this the writer’s curse?

Perhaps it is, and I am, or not?

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Naked in Hindsight


Naked in Hindsight

Like ivies entwined 

Curling through the branches of life,

We made for the light 

From out of totalitarian darkness.

We had to, you see.

Natural lovers chased by the mould,

The mildew of existence,

Seeking the comforts of shared warmths

And a quiet breath or two,

We tried.

Yes, we tried.

Innocents, one might have said,

If free from society’s sharp tongues 

And scathing accusations.

Or alternatively fools.

For the truth was,

The very essence of the situation,

We were naked in hindsight.

Then again,

Weren’t we all?