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Poem


A stolen life. A split-second decision.
Disorganised thoughts, jumbled—
Tangled around an anaesthetised cortex.
Clocks mockingly ticking,
Ticking down inevitability,
As a lone fly buzzes relentlessly around my head.

Swatting at it—it returns mere moments later,
Pestering, always just out of reach,
Festering like a wound reopening, oozing with persistence.
As the slant of the harvest moon traverses its way through splinters in the walls,
The crack of thunder and flash of lightning hail turbulent storms ahead.
Bending down, I roll up an inordinate rug.

Prying back marred floorboards,
Lifting out an ornately sculpted box—
Worn, weathered from the passing of time.
Removing the lid, I can still smell my mistakes.
I let bereavement overtake rationality,
Rubbing my fingers over intricately carved lines.

My former life takes shape before me.
Awake for days, I was—
Thought I could outsmart my lapse in judgement.
The clock struck two, and nothing was happening.
Breathing out, a calm washed over me,
Thinking all was safe—

At least, that’s what I tried to make myself believe.
But that silence was just the momentary tranquillity before the chaos,
As “the sharp snap of branches masked the bark of distant dogs,”
Coming to collect a soul who bargained for more time.
Banging at the door—it snaps in half.
Nowhere to hide. Teeth rip into flesh,

Sending my blood spilling.
As a bone pricks my finger, I boomerang back.
Violently, I smash the reminder,
Yet as furiously as I try to destroy it,
The omen rematerialises—
Spiritually tied together in this coiling, hellish realm,

Until not even an infinitesimal speck of dust exists,
Whilst all time and space melt into each other.

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