I wrote this a little while ago, for someone who I deeply love. A someone in incredible pain. I wrote, and then I judged, and then I left it on the shelf. Upon reflection, it says everything I think I might have felt in their shoes. Hoping to do someone’s pain justice seems an awful thing to want, but I hope it anyway.
Life goes on you see. Clocks continue their tick tocking. Dogs will bark, regardless of tears or shouts or screams. The phone will ring it’s infernal ring, the caller selling raffle tickets for underprivileged boys ( don’t they know that’s you! ).
Water flows from the taps. Lights can still be switched on. Here comes the post. There goes a train. Was that someone laughing? Have you seen my shoes?
How can life go on, when you are stood so very still amongst it? Don’t they know? Can’t they see?
Where’s my “I’m in fucking pain here!” T-shirt? Let me pull it on, I shall wear it into town, and all the people will see. They will know not to smile, to get out of my way, to throw their most sympathetic looks my way.
How does this heart still beat? These lungs still breathe? This body is my enemy with its digestion, mastication, urination, respiration. You betray me and my hurt, with your infernal living.