it’s only when it grabs you by the throat
and coats you in its darkness
that you sit back and enjoy it and boy
you didn’t even know that you were in it
it’s puking in the toilet bowl and crying in the curtains
certain that you’re dying and it’s not
for want of trying that you don’t.
Won’t you sit beside me or is that you who died inside me?
am I talking to the ghost that I became?
© 2018, John Smallshaw.