photograph | a poem

The rustic kitchen (2)

if i could
just hide in the shadows
flicker behind the wall
remain out of sight
imitating nightfall
if i could
find love near the dead ends
where no one cares to search
lie down on the beach
covered in dirt
if i could
lull myself to sleep during
those unholy hours, no barriers
fresh mornings and coffee
a fresh start
if i didn’t care
just for one day
no half smiles
or a deranged headspace

then
i might be happier
the anxiety worn down
a sunflower under the sun
blooming around
i would
i really should
but stuck
i am
inside the same frame
same house, bright lights
loud noises
too many faces around
me

i’m inside a photograph
it ages
the same scenes, same spaces
hair to be grey and
my bed cold
yet another superficial observant
on this warm wintery day

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