Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Lockdown: Day Number… Honestly, I Don’t Know

The world is ending,


I’m not a doctor,

or the prime minister,

so I can’t be sure,

but everything feels unapologetically apocalyptic,

so I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to think.

I think I’m supposed to panic,

but I’m actually relieved,

laying in the dark,

remembering little moments of life,

my heart,

still in the lonely sea,

waiting for me to return.


Maybe I will.

Wading home to the waves,

the moon shining on the steps,

as they watch me,

in silent but resigned horror.

If it’s over,

really over,

then lockdown be damned,

let me go home.

I want to go home,

to the only place where I felt whole,

the only place where the emptiness was ignorable,

the only place where I felt free.

If I close my eyes,

the tears on my cheeks,

feel like home,

and I am so blissfully alone,


waiting for the end of the world,

so I can shrug off the guilt,

at how little I wanted to be here in the first place.

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