I was stillborn before I was conceived,
raised as a counterfeit human
walking among a cavalcade of corpses
on blood drenched soil.
I took the Turing test and failed.
I write for the illiterate.
I dance for the blind.
I regularly donate to defunct charities.
I’m the king of lost causes.
Captain of a lagan ship.
Steering my way back to a home I never had,
where I’ll wait patiently for company who’ll never arrive
at a house with no address.
Until then I’ll sleep while I’m awake.
Consuming food with no calories.
Listening to music with no melody.
Entranced by conversation with shadows on the wall
in a pitch black room.
