Uncomfortable, I park the car, forcing a smile. Distract the conversation from the reason we’re here. Dead stalks of roses in storm fallen jars. A wealth of new neighbours in misshapen grass.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. Why did we come here?
I can’t distance the image of what’s physically here, And all that we are walking on and what’s underneath. Read only the closest, read only the clear. A life disregarded, three steps too far.
I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here. Why did we come here?
So I visit you. Am I talking to you? Do you hear me? Do you see me? Do you feel me? Can you hear me? I don’t know.