We Are

We are friable creatures, our photographs disintegrate in hairline movements, our smiles fractured on the floor.

We are parallel lines, leaving notes as we pass: your cup in the sink, my coat on the bed, our backs facing each other in the night.

We are the closing doors on awkward gazes, behind which silence teems. We are the eye of the storm before words are unleashed and twisted and cannot be unspoken again.

We are stuck in a loop, on the road, driving towards bad news. We are tunnels bright with failure, dark with disappointment.

We are black holes engulfing energy and light and all things nice. We are daggers and dead space, assholes and misers. We are blank paper, empty rooms, dust collecting, collecting malignancy. We are letters and sentiments, platitudes, post-coital apologies, happier times, always right, always wrong, slowly becoming irrelevant.

We are love dancing along the precipice, flying, falling, hand-in-hand. And we know not. We know not how to stop.

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9 thoughts on “We Are

      • Nick Gibbs says:

        Being bipolar, existing solely on benefits, and having literally nothing else to do probably helps… πŸ™‚

        I do seem to be on a bit of a roll at the moment: I tend to carry notebooks around with me, and I’ve usually got four or five longer poems on the go at any one time, so that probably helps as well.

        Mind you, you should see the mindlessly sentimental self-pitying maudlin dreck I throw away on a weekly basis! If it makes it to the blog it’s finished(ish), but there’s a lot of horrific abortions along the way. best for everybody that those poems never see the light of day…

        Keep up the sterling work, Karen. Quirky and insightful is most definitely a winning combination.

  1. Karen Shei says:

    Nick: Ah yes, I sometimes think of writing as a way of raging against futility.

    Dreck is good, dreck is very necessary. And so is lots of notebooks πŸ˜› Looking forward to your next pieces.

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