un-kissed breath

Open your eyes?
- the voice whispers...
Under the winter duvet
he’s escaping 
that protruding ray of light.
Coffee? 
- the voice whispers...
Under the winter duvet 
he’s escaping 
the brink of spring.
On Sundays  
lonesome trotting 
from bed to bathroom
- unnoticed.
Kitchen 
too far to soothe 
any of his hungers.
By night
in a concert hall
wearing more layers 
than spring
he watches feet pass by
- carefree
- colourful sandals.
The artist?
- the voice whispers... 
A depressing aura
singing of pain
crowding the auditorium
with an overpowering smell 
of an un-kissed breath.
The music?
- the voice whispers...
The music is real 
- alright!
But no one to talk to.
The world grew old
without giving notice.

For fuck’s sake 
- the voice whispers...
When will your loneliness 
stop being so intrusive?

More poetry...

© Jeta B Photography