Perceptions

 In the dead dark

Even curtains become doors

The Journey

 In a cosmos of stories, told and retold

You are lost to be seeking the truth

An Impersonal Letter

 It's personal, it's bloody personal.

When you see faces smiling at you, on your screen

Faces you know, have been burnt to ashes

When you pray that single tick on the messenger reads "seen" someday

Messages you know, have lost their way in a dead inbox

When you hear wailing voices tearing apart on calls

Voices you know, are now all a matter of the past

The Government has skeletons in the cupboard and yet no regrets, no fucks to give

We, who didn't have cupboards big enough for skeletons, now have ghosts in our heads