What it's like

I'll try to
explain it.

I cried last night
into the pillows. I needed
a reason not to burn
myself like
a nylon loose thread.

Nobody, and I swear to that,
could know this fear.

To have empty skies
above your head, but only see
flashing bombs.

To walk down a quiet street,
and imagine lurking
policemen, then check
your wristwatch, just in case
this curfew was real.

To enter a room,
and the next thing
you can hear is shaky
furniture, and
falling walls.

To behold holes in doors
that aren't really
there.

To doubt that any parked
car could be carrying
a few tons of C-4.

To kiss someone,
and envisage their death.

To think it would be
easier to burn
yourself
quickly, like a useless
nylon loose thread.