I’ve been working on

Coming back from

The dead

Realising reality

Living in this world

Becoming me

I don’t have to know who I am

But I must know that I am

I am, I am, I am

I don’t have to know what I am

To deserve to be

I’m working on being,

Just being

Because I’ve been existing

Mindless, automatic, numb

Best autopilot, me

Coming back from the dead

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The first time

Is a pin prick

To unstitch

Your skin

To feel yourself

Begin

You search your being

You are it:

Coursing through yourself

The second time

You search inside

A stranger

Behind the corner shop

You find where he begins

Adrenaline!

But come back,

Stinking of rot

Void of thought

To feel what?

What are you searching for?

To begin ag...

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The fluttering of the autumnal flags

clinging onto the last hope

of the now distant summer

brittle and brown they hang on

for dear life to their arboreal home.

The bark, it protects and guards the

living trunk against the bite of the

Northerly wind while the leaves

they suffer stoically the chilly breeze.

One final breath, and they are pulled

from their earthly space

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