Your spine has left a shadow on this wall.
In two separate rooms
We both live the same
While I wear my best clothes
Your black hair is upset
You look very beautiful just to me
I do not laugh
Eat flowers in your absence.
I covered my face with black ink
Gathered all my possessions in one small bundle
And set fire to everything
At the top of the hill.
Look this way
I waved my burning hand
As you walked in your imaginary map
With a preoccupied stare
But nothing disturbed your pace,
The door shut behind with an incredible force.
The thin walls echoed.
The island went silent again.
My half shut eyes were able to reach
At the seed of the poem where god left
A freshly baked bread
Just for me.
The white crust had my initials on it
But I could not bear to eat it
In case I had nothing else left
For the rest of my days.
On the way to the palace
I paused and thought for a moment whether my fresh linen coat
Was really appropriate for her majesty;
My feverish hand brushed the pristine fitted jacket and checked
The size of the buttons,
As golden big studs would have looked rather disgusting
To her well trained eye.
It started raining so I had to turn back
As I quickly gathered that my attire would get soaked
And rather mouldy;
So, to avoid a rather embarrassing situation for both of us,
I thought I’d better try a wet suit instead.
Surely I looked better in a suit than a jacket but
I could not find suitable shoes to go with it
And the rain wasn’t that bad after all.
I was by then very late and rushing
To get a front row seat
When suddenly after a short deliberation
I realised with clarity that her majesty appreciated
For who I was
Rather than my fashion sense
So I took the Lycra skin off and
Rushed outside naked in the broad daylight.
The police stopped me
Just as I was about to call for a taxi.
Even to the day I think
Honest people should be treated with more respect
And I secretly believe that
Her majesty needs a good dose of
Postmodern reality check.