Tuesday, 14 September 2010



If he has turned from being
A young man with a heart,
To a plastic bag and a belt
Snapped tight around a red neck,
Maybe all the late nights
And smiling men
Don't matter that much, after all.
And I wonder: did the plastic bag
Contract and expand with his
Last failing breaths -
Did his body provoke his reasons
And throb and shudder, as if screaming -
Did he understand what he was doing
Did he recognise the disease -
    Yet no answers ever come.


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