Fiction (Draft 1)

Fiction (Draft 1)

Oh I hate I’m so much fiction, and
I’m thinking I should die

I don’t really have a book worth anything,
don’t really have a life, can’t sing well

can’t write for me, for you.

Oh why can’t the world
look at my word —

sometimes when I dream
it seems like

I am open, and
there is still an embrace, but

I can’t
and I’m so sad.

I think when I drown
it will be good, because

somebody
doesn’t want me to surf.

I have no idea
about the wave —
such things are mysteries.

There is an ocean, and
and I love the sound
out my window
every morning when
I hear both crickets,
the surf, and softly you, and then

I wonder why I can’t
write your song.

Maybe it’s because
I’m dead.

I can’t do this
can’t even write
my obituary, because
it’s too damn formal, and
requires compliments, and

in my life reviews, I am sorry
about every day, and every
mistake, but I know you

have never been one, and
I thank you.

— Douglas Gilbert

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4 thoughts on “Fiction (Draft 1)

  1. I have no idea about the wave either…but mysteries seem easier to solve when one has a good partner by their side. No obituary talk…that makes me wanna cry just thinking about it. A death without knowing love’s kiss seems a horrible fate.

      1. oh, i’ve been feeling so cold all day with this weather change…but that just made me feel warm inside…love you too (so please don’t let anything happen to you).

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