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by Darren Swift

Drinks are drunk,
the life and soul
spreads himself thinly
across sofas not his.

Smiles and laughter
hide the flaccid self
held deep behind
layered levity.

The bandages wrap
tightly around the wound,
the piercing leaks,
does not gush.

They talk about him,
discuss the light
in his eyes, dimmed;
he frolics forwards.

Returning home
the mask slips, in his mind
the only depression is
in the mattress

where she used to sleep.


Posted on 03/24/2007
Copyright © 2023 Darren Swift

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Michelle Angelini on 03/24/07 at 05:25 AM

Oh dear, another sad one. This one too, is very emotional and I can feel your pain. I know about the public masks one wears when you hope no one knows what's really going on.

Posted by Maureen Glaude on 03/28/07 at 12:57 PM

wow, so powerful, especially the twist ending and the sting it brings. Masterful writing indeed, so glad I've started to find your work.

Posted by Alison McKenzie on 04/21/07 at 04:03 PM

I can remember, in my grief, a feeling of being liquid, of sliding in and out of the life that went on despite the crushing loss. I remember marveling in a disconnected sort of way that life did go on, and sometimes I was a part of it. This reminded me.

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