That used to be me down there.
Loud friends, loud stumbles,
loud lives, loud problems
but a soft understanding
it’s fine.
And we were fine.
Fine expires, you know.
This and that
and the friends move
on and
ontop of life is
no longer your normal,
normalizing problems is
your new crusade, not
crusading for the sake of it.
I suppose it’s a usual
thing to be stood here,
looking down, peering back
into a past, a grained
a hologram before me.
Makes me wonder if
that part of our lives was just
a simulation.
The places and
the faces that weave in and
around you have
unravelled and caught
the wind.
My mind is not that
same mind, my brain
a different one completely,
replaced in my sleep
perhaps?
It’s as if I never saw the scar or
felt the stitches,
it’s cruel.
The gods of age
sent their minions for my
puerile spirit and
they amputated it
from me.
I shall have to learn to live
with it’s
phantom pains.
On Tuesdays 