It is a time of year when I think bleak thoughts


You cough and something tears. You drown in blood
and splatter walls with red. And then you fall
gone in five seconds. There’s no use to call
or hit your silent chest. Dead where you stood.

And that’s one way we die. Mumbling to sleep
talking in fragments. How you drove to Kent
or how to make cheese omelettes. We just rent
all that we are, no freehold, cannot keep

our bodies as they were when we were young
no matter how we fast, what pills we take.
Madness will fever us, our hearts will break,
we’ll lose a finger, or an eye, or lung.

Breathe art each second, make or dance or sing.
Night comes forever stifling, silencing.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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