the3rdpersonstory

Lost limbs lying around like

Lost property

The owners never found.

We watch on our TV like it rights us to see,

Detox is trending wash it down by

Drinking in and

Drowning out

The silence with the sound of

Detritus.

I don’t know much about war

Torn these pages out the book of my imagination,

Like muscles I never stretched, a

Gym session I never went to because the 

Thought of it’s uncomfortable the way it 

Sits on the couch in my head, sprawls 

It’s limbs out like the ones on TV,

Difference is they’re all attached to me, 

I guess I’m under attack. A

Pillow fight, in my world I’m cushioned from the blows

And stray F’s in conversation are the only bombs I’m near

Daily, the debris from arguments is never deadly, it’s just

Detritus. 

Can’t afford a holiday so it’s airplane mode

For a few days in a row,

Three if I can because it’s free and makes me

Feel more present in a world where I don’t know death

As well as you, we see it on our screens while

You walk past it in your streets like deja vu.

Scared of responsibility and if you’re rich enough

Maturity’s an option not the inevitability of a ticking time 

Bomb that goes off 

Not like the alarm we hit snooze to in the morning and roll over

It’s eyes that roll back to face the darkness inside when you turn Over to

Channel one, and it’s written in page 15 

If you make it past page 3, and there’s me 

Washing off the red on my fingers and then ‘they’re clean’ 

I fail to convince myself after a final wipe on my jeans,

I walk over the rubble 

On the carpet of my bedroom,

‘It looks like a bombsite’ my Mum would say,

And I just pray the dinner she cooks is alright,

Forgetting as I leave the room, to turn off my light.

Detritus.