The Wall

He saw himself like a mini God
Like a poor man's Adonis
in a churlish sort of way…
Like a 'wide' boy
able to sell…….
Like an Eastender
come good...
But he was shallow
Shallow as a dried up river bed
Pretending that death was not inevitable
He comforted himself
in self made blankets
With cats
NOT YET DEAD…
And with a wife
NOT YET ALIVE…..
How could he find comfort in his life
A life that was not his
Because he was lost….
Certainly not a chosen one
And now he sleeps…
with perspiration on his brow
For the fear of death
is overwhelming for the egocentric….
Not exactly suitable for the bus queue chatter
But it makes perfect sense to him
Which makes perfect sense to me.

IN THOSE QUIET MOMENTS