Last night, limping, I walked. All the way to the edge

of myself, scheming how to get out of this hellish

crab bucket, these last 10 years corroding the alloy - slag

of an ordinary day. It felt cold. My gun stashed into the

the back of the wheelhouse. Hands shaking, I saw the tears

stammering behind your eyes when I winched the rope out.

From that moment, there was no going back. The fear,

like a crouching adder, coiled around your lips,

inviting you to kneel. Hands behind your back, I said,

forcing a black hood over your head. It was tender,

the two shots to the back of the neck, one to the heart,

twisting my ankle, shoving you off the ship, I felt

a kiss on my cheek, you floating away. Free, I cried.

A kiss on your cheek, me, floating away free. You cried

twisting your ankle, shoving me off the ship. I felt

the two shots to the back of the neck, one to the heart

forcing a black hood over my head. It was tender,

inviting me to kneel, hands behind my back. You said,

like a crouching adder coiled around my lips:

“From this moment, there is no going back.” The fear

stammering behind my eyes. When you winched the rope out

the back of the wheelhouse, hands shaking, I saw the tears

of an ordinary day. It felt cold, your gun. Stashed into the

crab bucket, these last 10 years, corroding the alloy - slag

of yourself, scheming. How to get out of this hellish

last night? Limping, you walked all the way to the edge.

This poem was published in Interpreter's House issue 58 at the beginning of 2015. I am aware it isn't even close to 500 words and therefore would not be eligible for the challenge. However, I made the decision to put it out there for Prose writers to have a look at, mostly because it fits the prompt about Death.

I would appreciate any feedback on not only the form but also this particular poem. I am currently writing a script from the narrative and hoping to film it in the near future.

This piece was by far the hardest to write for me as I submitted myself to a form and its constraints for the first time. Blood, sweat and tears definitely were part of the writing process.

The form I tried to emulate is called mirror poem after Julia Copus. The rules of it as are follows:

1. From the mid point of the poem every word contained upto that point must be used in the reverse order.

2. The punctuation may be varied in order for the structure to make sense.

I also made some variations to pronouns and point of view to further enhance (in my opinion) the mirror effect. Do let me know if this works for you.

Although Julia Copus is credited with creating this form (a claim she made), there is a previous example by James A. Lindon printed in Dmitri Borgmann's Beyond Language (1967). A little more research reveals palindrome poems stretch back through Sanskrit poetry into antiquity. However since Julia Copus' name for the form is rather interesting that is the one it is honoured with here.

Every day, I get asked the most difficult question in the world.

Not maths. 3 little words. How are you?

Tough question...the hardest.

The answer...nearly always a lie.

I'm okay. I'm fine. Well, you know, surviving.

Is it just me?

You can never tell the truth, the whole truth, so help me God.

You may even have to check...how am I?

I'm awake, I'm alive, I'm just...trying to retrieve an appropriate platitude so we can move on to the great weather we're (not) having. Did I take the blue pillow the red one this morning?

And is answering I'm good grammatically correct?

(A little aside about grammar: the correct answer is yes because of the difference between action verbs and linking verbs. Action verbs, you know, run as fast as you can, jump through hoops, swim against treacle, it's all about the action. Linking verbs however, do not express action but a state. You see, being is not something that can be done...grammatically speaking.)

So tell me, tell, me, tell me. 3 words. How are you?

Well, if you have the time, to listen, no harm, no crime, I'd tell you true, not lie to you. If you could only guess, take a stab, I'd confess. If you could only try on my shoe, feel the sharp stone I've put in there, to remind me of the times where I didn't walk with a limp, the times I wasn't a wimp.

How are you?

That question, so every day, so mundane, so gently invites me to a precipice, where the voices speak to me as if I'm sane. That person, asking me, isn't taking the piss...maybe, I could share my insides, explain...only I'm too afraid that, again I will miss, shoot far too wide, far too deep, and gain...

the usual blank face

vacant stare

grin fixed.

There is always a little truth behind – just kidding

A little emotion behind – I don’t care

A little pain behind – It’s okay

And a lot of words behind the silence

There is always a promise behind – I love you

A slow build-up of lies behind – It was only a kiss

An argument simmering behind – we need to talk

And a lot of words behind the silence

There is always denial behind – I only need one

A little help me, please behind – Whatever

A little ask me to stay behind – I gotta go

And a lot of words behind the silence

There is always a story behind - I’m fine

A little I need you behind – leave me alone

A little pain behind – don’t ask

And a lot of silence behind the words.

You spit in the wind of change. You try your luck- still green. Cash cows just aching to be fake-liked and twittered. The germs of your insanity float and sprout- dandelions are so damn tough to weed out. I will love you in the morning anytime when you declare: Keep your cold hands between your legs - Don't you know my head is aching so ?

You spit in the wind of change. You chuckle Oi oi savaloy and a bottle of rum. You try your luck - still green. The tube is not responsible for delivering delays - It's the drivers - same everywhere. Are you looking carefully? The magic will start right about now. I'm only waiting for the first scream and then I'm solid gone.

You spit in the wind of change. Where are the clouds gone I can touch the sky. You try your luck - oh oh...This is not the place. This is not the time. This is not the same. Yesterday I was asleep when the postcard came. The words got me up and told me everything I never needed to know.

You spit in the wind of change. You don't play the game or the piano and now you won't marry butter. You try your luck and find the door is wide open. Your name is not included unless otherwise specifically stated under the stamp.

I try spitting in the wind of change.

I was saving my luck for times like these.

It’s 1 am.

I’m calculating how many hours I have left until the alarm rings. 300 minutes. 18000 seconds. Chewing random thoughts savagely till they lose their taste. Yes, mother, it is okay for you to stay over a few weeks. I should have never said that. Now I am contemplating how to get away with murder. I imagine how to work it out in conversation. Mum? She went quietly...didn’t notice the sleeping pills in her herbal tea...she was not too heavy to carry downstairs, you know...I found her a quiet spot in the garden under the roses she admired so much.

2 am. Staring at the cracks time. Fuck that. If I can’t sleep, I might as well get up. Make tea. Smoke fags. Not write. Look at the washing up piled up in the sink. Look at a blank page. Make tea. Smoke fags. Not write. Hide the bills that I can’t pay. Read conspiracy theories. Make tea. Smoke. Not write. I stand at my back door, stare at the wind instead.

3 am. Back to bed. 180 minutes and 9000 seconds left.

4 am. I’m ironing my thoughts into neat shapes...fold them like origami swans...9 legs are better than 8 to walk on black ice...when the morning comes, I will have mastered the spider glide...maybe.

And it’s 5 am. I give in to daydreams about Him. The guy I don’t want to think about. Because he picked my pockets clean with his sun-filled hugs, his wide brim of a grin and the tender quiet in the black of his eyes. It’s the feeling of feelings. I remember our last hug...touching the closeness between us, choosing to watch him leave, the taste of the never again. I cried when he could not see me.