alfie lee writing


the living will set free

i can't stop the rain forever
threatening to fall, nor friends
and family slowly shuffling out
my head, after them, in monotones,
obsequious, closing the door.
not the days that fruit and spoil
rotting to their core. raining
flies, reeking of opportunities too
rank to ignore. can't
stop the cycle of habit furiously
tearing up and down the stairs
in bunny slippers, half-undressed
with little to the imagination left.
i keep my nose to the floor,
breathing dust, threaded in webs,
face to the east, heading west,
where light transmits in dots
and make a dash, for windows, not walls.
and i won't, for i want
all that's left of who i think i was and am
losing my touch, fearing the worst,
a bundle of nerves, going blind,
turning deaf, short of breath,
a loss for words, living death.


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