Underground Solitaire
A poem
Nightfall rose again, that smiling tragedian —
Hawking misfortunes and unfinished dreams
that bled out into me, silent as unstitched wounds,
Raising me to grief’s dishonest grimace as trauma sent more letters without warning,
Ever the plot twister; reminding me that this limping peace is only but a paradox…
Buried in shafts and keyless locks,
Swallowing the words and embracing the box,
I longed to escape this l’appel du vide —
But the rave is tightly latched to this ever starving mind.
I am a museum of things I want to forget,
Reaching out for healing while craving deeper wounds,
That night-forged demise has made a home out of my mind,
empty seats; dark theatre
So why do I keep acting?
notes: I’ve been sitting here staring at the screen probably because the reason for this piece is one I don’t like to talk about. Mika Oka wrote a piece recently about conflicting emotions surrounding birthdays, one that I found very relatable because as far back as I can remember, It always seems like a down trend suddenly begins when my birth month comes around and then it proceeds to get worse until my birthday comes around.
These periods are accompanied by some unpleasant memories, high anxiety levels, a severe urge to disappear and other things with the only highlight being the fact that it creates some of my best pieces and now, my birth month has returned and I can already feel the spiral. Putting this out is me deciding to try and make it better this year.
The phrase ‘L’appel du vide’ means the call of the void, a phenomenon involving an impulse to jump or let yourself fall from a high place.
I’m grateful for a place to be able to share my pieces so thank you to the editors and curators of this wonderful pub, wishing everyone a lovely month! Thank you for reading 🙌🏾🤍
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