Psychosocial Stage 5

The sky was ashen.
You do not particularly need
A window placed just right
To detect the broken pulse
Of an oppressive sky.      

The static gets to me because
I have known more sounds at the
Brink of the night            
And I have slept to the sound of a whirring fan
As though it was a calming lullaby.

But have we known enough to
Sit still without a single thought
Of static breaking the very singular soul
We have devoted our whole lives into pretending?


I have not known good graces
Or learnt yet how to fully remember faces
Because I would not be able to
Recall what the shine of eyes speak of
Or what the curve of a jawline
Absolves itself of.
All I have are vagaries
And vague impressions oppressing me.