When he was eight
years old, he was
scared to death
of dying.
Now he’s a man
it’s still all he
thinks about,
though mostly
he’s just hoping.
When he was eight
he’d lie awake
at night; trapped
in his thoughts.
Usually
they’d be about
death, the end
of the world
or anything
in between.
Now he’s a man
he lies awake
at night; trapped
in his thoughts.
Usually
they’re about
life, living
or having
to wake up
the next day.
Sometimes when he
was eight he’d pre
-tend that his
bed was a
speedboat or spy
car, and he’d just
escaped the
enemy,
and that now he
was safe
to sleep
with his transport
in night mode;
containing his
comfortable bed.
It was okay;
he had surveillance
to keep him prepared
whilst he slept;
ready for the enemy.
Sometimes, as a
man, he’s so drunk
he has no
trouble in
sleeping. With his
thoughts all drown out,
the day ends
with great ease,
and the peaceful
dark comes much
quicker.
Though of course
when the alcohol
fades, the dreams
take its place,
but they’re only
a bother
when they wake him.
When he was eight
years old he would
contemplate
the world, but
he’d contemplate
the afterlife more.
Scared of both
options; of
nothing and
forever.
Not knowing
which scared him
the most.
Now he’s a man,
he contemplates
living and
dying, not
knowing which
appeals
to him
most.
