A Poem That Might Be About Death

I know that I am here

sometimes all too well

 

I find lose change

and safety

behind the couch

 

I bathe in emptiness

enjoying the feeling of my fists clenching

joyously

 

silence tells me whispered secrets

her lips brushing my ear

bringing me ecstatic goose bumps

 

memories of myself hide in swelling shadows

while I claw at light

that seems warmer and brighter now

 

and sometimes, I leave music play

in empty rooms

 

©2018 BY STEVE DENEHAN. PROUDLY CREATED WITH WIX.COM

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