how to write a poem without saying anything? listen to the same song on repeat until the words stop sinking in and you fall out of your own skin. i keep boiling the kettle for tea that i forget to make. room temperature sunset bounces off the walls and a to do list that i’ve shoved in the back of my drawers. breath in lungs shower is too cold overwater my plants and forget to take my meds. the birds are fighting outside my window. i wish they’d be more respectful. days structured like a picasso painting, time always flows in the way you least expect it. mismatched disjointed like words that scratch the inside of your mouth as you let them out. i’m so sorry. it wasn’t me. let’s start again. where were we? i didn’t think that’s where i’d find my soul. crumpled in a back street in the middle of the road. how to write a poem without saying anything? blank pages are filled by the gaze of the observer and they’ll attribute words to your mouth no matter how much you refuse. stare at a blank page for too long and it’ll turn into a mirror. stare at a mirror for too long and it’ll turn blank. the clouds are scattered like my mind and my thoughts drift seamlessly in between the gaps in the sky like we’re all suspended inside a dream. if you squint your eyes you can connect those water vapour lines into a face like a picasso. trace the eyes and the nose and the mouth a little to the left. it’s crooked but it’s for the best. the sun’s now almost gone. how are days both too short and too long? sunset like wounds ripped into a blue sky and feelings that bubble and rise and seem to be magnified under the aura of this orange hue. cotton candy clouds at dusk taste like bitter sweet nostalgia and all the apologies i never got a chance to give you. a longing for a time not quite remembered properly. memories translucent like the smallest of clouds, they coalesce into a half illusory reality, part past and part dreamed. cream soda, ash on the window screen. the sun is setting too quickly for me to perfect these words, for me to eternalise this night sky into a romanticised verse. amber like the neon lights on october first. what was i trying to say again? it’s hard to say anything without turning it into a poem.