Shade
You might think
crossing over, entering
the universal consciousness
would bring you closer to
the allignment of love.
Apparently not!
I still consel young women,
not to put too much faith
in men. "We've all got one
arsehole in our knickers.
Don't rush to add another one".
Grave dirt dished.
Offering sage advice.
I think things do become
A little clearer
this side of the veil.
I can see my own truisms.
I can see my own lies
Depression did for me.
I believed those toxic,
brain weasels. Telling me
the world was better off
without me in it.
It felt real at the time.
Bastard hindsight is 20/20.
I knew when they couldn't
close the doors of the chapel
how loved I was.
Friends, family, teapot tribe,
all filed in, but not all had seats.
I don't sleep, under a hill.
I witness rock bottoms.
I prompt phone a sponsor.
I urge find a meeting
So it's not all in vain.
As a shade I shine solace.
PROMPT: Write your own poem in the form of a monologue delivered by someone who is dead.
IMAGE CREDIT: Jenny Luddington - Kensal Green Cemetery
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