What do you do when everything
held dear is so
near to the truth
as a star to your sun?
And whilst Tuesday recedes and
you broach the
strange truth of your rhymes.
As you wrote what
you did, as in action and rewriting,
it felt so truthful – really it
seemed quite right.
But if your night of love is to follow
my day of done,
and if we are to continue to say
and if we always will
sane in our whys and our ones
and our twos and
then what do you do when you discover
your strife, whilst
true in that moment you went and gave it that life,
bears little relationship to what you
sought to present as the reason
for easing so long and slow
through an existence
unfulfilled; quite wasted in fact.
And yet in all your falsehoods,
there is still a burning core: your environment
was manipulated, but so much closer
to home than roaming rock.
And even where the watchlist watched
you this eagle-
it only watched
because of the distrust
you exhibited as a result of her
control: like show artistic or in some way cultural
your illness was
profoundly real, but mental distress not
And the possessor of actual
was the person no one diagnosed
as diagnosable of anything.
And so abuse comes
in many forms and
shapes; and so this obtuse itself comes close
but not enough
to making the family believe the wider curiosity.
An angle of injustice the state decides to
sanction for thirteen
years long and horrible ruled: an angle
quite Pythagorean in its elegantly cruel
be with me, and
let me wife you
on these terms and conditions;
let me deny your own reality
let us never cross swords
nor enjoy that up and
And so it was that you frowned all your life
and never really trusted another.
But this has all changed today:
Everything is fine and grand:
the past roundly
passed, I never can now
suspect my own reality again.