- makeswordswork
Gilded
Updated: Jun 7, 2021

It’s that light in your eye
That trickle of a lie
That tie-dyed stain of a tilt in the brain
A catch in the throat
That sounds like a choke
Or a token smile feigning sincerity
We hear that catch
That hesitant tongue as lubricant
Lining the colon of the gilded one
And the only reason I know there is still light outside
Is because there is no light inside
I cannot remember the name of the boy
Who sat next to me in school
With masonry nails through his fingers
And blood trickling down the desk legs
His smile is tattooed on the inside of my forehead
Yet his name is a mirror-sprite
A somnambulating dissenter
And today I watch a simile on the news
As he tries to make sense of it
As he tries to grasp the enormity
But his eyes betray him
He deflects the pain
Bereft of empathy
And the only reason he knows there is still light outside
Is because there is no light inside
His cheeks are puffing out and the trumpet is up his arse
I would like to change the channel
But find I cannot move
I am stasis
I am pall
I am disjunct
And enthralled
I prune the tree, not knowing its name
I mow the lawn, not feeling its pain
I still the mood and drink my tea
I have no deity, so pray for me.
The corpse on the TV is real
The baby on the sofa is not
There are hairs in my whisky
Hairs on my tongue
Hairs on the ceiling
Hairs on the walls
There is a catch in my throat
But I do not control my own voice
I have let the others speak
And my silence has deafened me.
And the only reason I know there is still light outside
Is because there is no light inside.
My life is gilded, in comparison
I am wanting, in comparison
I am poor, in comparison
Yet rich, in comparison
I am hurt by this, beyond compare.
Writing by JAMES OATES
Artwork by FAYE LAMB