E-Hostel Sunday Night
20th December 2022

Sodium vapour streetlights bring yellow to the mattress in front of me,
translating cold and hard,
…not feeling my pain,
…not understanding my confusion,
…not helping (…as I somehow wished it would).

I ask where are the demons that that have bought me to this place,
but I only know I needed an out,
and that they are not here to talk to,
...and now that I am here, I feel no desire to chase them down.

I am as walking towards a precipice without seeing,
cutting flesh without feeling,
the hurt instead suspended around me in heavy slow motion,
seeping, dripping, from the dirty walls of the room around me.

I am playing a refugee,
from society, and from life,
from overpowering, suffocating, normalcy.
Brushing against a world with real problems,

I rightly feel an imposter,
but an imposter as yet still struggling,
...and confused,
…and hurting.


A night (and morning) away.

When I Grow up Poetry (mine) Take it All copyright information Copyright Sunda 2022