My shadow is an abyss,
keep pace.
The sun sets and the moon lifts
shadows stretching out towards
reaching out for
something
unobtainable
the feeling unexplainable, taut muscles
pulling away from what is left
of this body,
desperate for something, anything else.
The sinkholes grow and spew and spit
whatever they can’t stomach,
the landscape tilts and wobbles in the cold,
deflects bodies outwards in the warm, rejects all that is organic
weakness expanding, sometimes my mirror reflects not me but my memories
scars turned into moments that I’d rather forget
walks turn into horror movies, hiding from the outer world
hiding from all of those reflections of myself, don’t
look into the water, don’t.
Reflections of times I needed help
but stayed neglected
trees pop through ground like open veins
reaching for something
concrete cracked by Christmas, the fragments turned abject
and my shadow is just an abscess,
an abyss that I fall into,
lulled towards peace by the pain that I know best,
beckoned and lured forth
the same mistake, add it
to the tally.
About the Creator
Reece Beckett
Poetry and cultural discussion (primarily regarding film!).
Author of Portrait of a City on Fire (2020, Impspired Press). Also on Medium and Substack, with writing featured… around…
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