Lilies

 

So he sang, Don’t Look Back,

but he turned to see

 

other lives

through his walls. He died

 

trying to hide. He sang

the line, ‘Murmurs baptise…’

 

He left a note

and it remains unread

 

inside my winter blazer, for another time,

when his tears cease to blind.

 

He downed vodka and pills,

a whole bottle of each,

 

fantasies like flowers,

and he always just wore one.

***

unnamed (1)

Tom Bland is a writer and an accidental performance artist. He studied psychotherapy and dream analysis at SOPH and edits the online magazine, Blue of Noon, http://blueofnoonpoetry.tumblr.com.

 

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