18 February 2016

#18 - Hiding

I need to gag and rain is slumping down
the windows of the train and when I die
I'll still be on this train a ghost that drowns
in words if someone talks to me I'll cry
or bite I fiercely wish like every time
I breathe dear world don't make me leave the house
I hide beneath my seat I hide behind
my face and at the meeting someone shouts
INSPECTION TIME! and eager fingers lunge
to rip my clothes and peel my skin they tug
my nerves right out and pluck my guts and plunge
beyond the trembling meat of me to lug
from out the ghost that speaks before I speak
whatever shrieking need is lodged in “me”


The Son of Man - René Magritte

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