Poetry is not my forte


But I’m going to try to write something anyway.

The world remains silent, still.
My mind wanders, my thoughts scramble.
My eyes redden.
My ears bleed.

Been thinking of the future,
as usual.
Been regreting my past,
as usual.
Been imagining distant worlds,
lousy words,
dark thoughts,
lively moments,
still life.

Went to a funeral the other day,
remembered my dad’s corpse.
His still limbs,
his closed eyes,
his hairy hands,
his last words.

Tried to imagine what my future will be like.
And panicked,
as usual.

No one can say that this makes sense,
but at least it’s honest.