Typed Music


I suppose these are just little pieces of me, wrapped up in words.

The forgotten melodies of my mind.


23. I, Poverty

It’s true, I steal everything;
I’m the villain I suppose,
Snatch life from between lips
Breath from mouth and nose.

I abrade your happiness,
Whittled down to soured memory.
Let the income wilt in my fist,
Shrivelled, shrunken then ash.

I stretch your skin tight
Across your human scaffold.
Let the embers fade to extinction
Melting, waning then ash.

I drink your energy dry
Quench thirst with your youth.
Let games dwindle to empty gasps
Wrinkled, hunch-back then ash.

I keep you dancing on my strings
‘Til you’re drunken with fatigue.
Let charcoal bleed over colour
Peppered, greyed then ash.

I swallow each shallow breath
Whisper into hungry voids.
Let the rasping cries scrape
Bone on bone on bone.

Frosted-granite fingers,
Drained-of-colour eyes,
Fish-hook bones,
Broken child.

All me, yes, all my work
But I, Poverty, must disclose:
Yes, it’s true I steal everything
I’m your villain, I suppose
But, after all, I’m starving too
And my hunger only grows.



Wrote this for a weird, twisted play of Hansel and Gretel that I was in and regretted it intensely for the rest of the rehearsals...

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