In that world again,

I know so well,

Of slighted self,

Of structure false.

Burnt matches,

Spent, exhausted,

Pierce my skin,

As barbed hooks,

Impaled, ensnared,

Lines taught,

Lessons unlearnt,

Drip poison,

Down, down, into my body,

A present from,

The other world.

 

This world I know,

Of loaned-out self,

Never returned,

Who would?

Of loveless despondency,

Of getting it wrong, wrong, wrong,

Of love lost – never known in this false truth,

Of false taken,

Of no hope for life ahead,

Why bother?

I’ll only fuck it up, again,

I tell myself,

But no-one else.

 

And I listen,

Oh, I listen deep,

To that I tell myself,

I listen to me-not-me,

That mocks even mockery in me,

That belittles and destroys,

That which would let love be,

Who is this voice?

The voice asks me,

And no answer have I,

But that this voice is me,

And I know you are there,

My friend,

And I am trying,

Trying to take good care,

Of both of us.