My mind is blank,
besides the thoughts of last night’s dream:
“Why would Harrison Ford want to hijack a plane?”

I try to think
but draw a blank.
My brain is shaking inside my skull
as it overheats and I become dizzy.

I try to write,
but nothing comes to mind.

All I can think of is that vivid dream
as the game you’re playing holds your attention
more than I could wish to.

My body is cold,
my belly is sick,
but not to the point of vomiting.
I can only hope for this to pass.

As the feeling grows stronger,
I begin to wonder,

‘Perhaps solid food will help?”
I leave the room,
no remarks from you.

Not a question of my silence
nor why I am leaving;
you just continue your game
as I stumble through your halls.

My head is hot,
my body is freezing.

“Don’t take without permission,”
I think,
but don’t have the strength to call out to you.

I just force down some water
and climb up the stairs
to realise what I need
is soup.

But I don’t want to bother you,
as I often do

so I continue my pain in silence.

2 thoughts on “Soup

  1. You really captured your state of mind in this piece, i imagine what others will say or do too and it can be paralizing – the saying “alone in a room full of people” comes to mind. Also these older poems seem to have alot more rythmn than the others in the recent past.


    1. Thanks again for your supportive words, dude!
      In all honesty, I never particularly aim to rhyme any of my poems – sometimes it just stumbles into my mind with ease, and other times it doesn’t. I always aim to get the emotion across above any rhyme or rhythm, though the rhythm in poetry comes a lot easier to me than in any other situation.


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