SICK LIT MAGAZINE

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.

***

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.