An untitled epidemic
Douse your cold heart in blankets of wistful distance
You’re an untouched city centre wall
Grey skies intertwined with camp porridge landscapes
The camp porridge you bitterly eat alone
You’re the only one immune to the siren’s sing-along
Watching it consume them one by one with a green monster in your eyes
The green monster that grips your shoulders and digs its nails in
Raking with cunning leisure
You’re the only actor staring at the broken fourth wall
Surrounded by utter deafness; only the crickets chirp
Sunshine Utopia has a quota, and they take no breaks in reminding you
Of your confinement to the chair in the room with a single barred window
Of your confinement to waiting for god-knows-what
Of your confinement to a one-sided war with solitude
Wasting in the trenches
Wondering why
Waiting for armistice
Only silence listens
An uneasy drone coming from the hallway
That heat is a damn catalyst
Hesitantly touch the fence
And let shock yank you back with the echo of their laughs
You can make yourself blind and deaf
But your absence is a tattoo
Your peace might be contaminated but you hold it close
Close to your moth-eaten heart
The primary school kid with his mouth closed during the national anthem
Gum stuck to the lid of a suburban rubbish bin
The noir reflects in the eyes of the flock
Will you ever sit at the back of the bus?
You hope you’re not glaring (you probably are)
Don’t wear your green heart on your sleeve
Or they’ll know you’re the factory-deformed piece of the jigsaw
Never a theatre kid
Rather a freeze frame than a soliloquy
Your view from the lighting booth is obstructed
The laughs from the audience are deafening
One day, you’ll sit at the back of the bus and be grateful you missed your stop
One day, the footpath will be too small, and your gaze won’t drop