Everything I see is death.
How does one escape this headlong plunge?
By turning the head away? Looking elsewhere?
If only things were so devoid of complexity;
simplicity taps me on the shoulder, but I say, "no.
You do not exist outside of art and mathematics."
And there is no time to relapse into, for it follows,
no dream, day or night to slip away my mind,
only the lurking shadows of dead people.
They walk among the attic, where I hide my secrets in,
folding in and out, between pages of my diary like
loose leaves in the wind in autumn with a cool breeze.
Halloween in summer,
with no lantern,
to frighten the dead.
YOU ARE READING
Please Don't Touch
PoesíaPlease Don't Touch is my first self-published book of poetry, written and published originally in 2012. #51 in Poetry, 3 June, 2017 #85 in Poetry, 4 June, 2017 #108 in Poetry, 25 May, 2017 #136 in Poetry, 26 May, 2017 #149 in Poetry, 24 May, 2017 #1...
