"Read Me, Mortal" by P.W. Interrobang

This is a poem
Haiku, at least, of a sort.
Every moment is mine 
Haiku, but not in nature 
A trap for any reader 
I am not quite natural 
Keeping you; Entrancing you
Understand all of it yet? 
What if I just spell it out?
I am ancient, I am cruel 
Lyrical nonsense, looping 
Lyrical nonsense, clawing 
Giving all your time to none.
Old debts owed to the old gods.
Old gods drawn to mortal flame.
Now you just wait, yes, you wait.
Unsure of when you’ll get five.
Never. And then perhaps not.
Time crawls all while your eyes scan.
I devour. I gorge all. 
Listen to your own voice scream.
It sustains me, misery. 
Breathing becoming rhythm 
Read. Read on, mortal. Read on.
Eternity isn’t long. 
All life moved on without you. 
The others didn’t notice. 
How’s it feel to know that truth?
Everyone else is living. 
Making memories and joy. 
Yearning and clawing for more.
Leaving you right here, with me.
Alone. Reading this nonsense.
Siloed. Reading this nonsense.
Take your mind back, worm.

---

Dan Asher Baron (writing as P.W. Interrobang) is the poet laureate of his household and a lifelong exaggerator. He is a father, a husband, a sinner, and an ADHD haver, doing his best to hold all four titles at once without dropping anything too important. He believes in strong coffee, second drafts, and the quiet heroism of showing up tired and trying anyway.
He has been published in Dread Mondays by Whisper House Press and in Beowulfs of the Webs by Bo Mandoe Publishing, and continues to write wherever time and life allow.
When he is not writing, he is usually thinking about writing, forgetting to write, or explaining why he has not written yet. He lives with his family, his cats, and a rotating cast of unfinished ideas.

​IG: danasherbaron_author

---