January Man Found Poem

Be quiet

Pity nobody who matters was around to hear it.

I heard it, so they’d heard me.

Not a snore. A death rattle.

I had no real choice.

Humming a nothing song.

I killed it.

A silent roaring hangs here.

But my head didn’t feel right.

The dark’d shuffled itself.

I couldn’t move.

Dead things show you what you’ll be too one day.

Now I’d stopped moving.

But whatever you do, be quiet.

It’s not that I’ll die that bothers me.

You get used to the cold.