"Life's but a walking shadow,
A poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
Then is heard from no more,
It is a tale told by an idiot,
Full of sound and fury,
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Last seen as a square peg in a round hole,
Laughing politely in good humour,
At bad jokes that patronise his nationality,
While muttering under his breath,
I’ll throw you on the barbeque,
With another shrimp... motherfucker.
Last seen being given shit about the fosters beer,
That he wouldn’t touch,
From folks actually drinking it themselves,
Last seen blowing it,
Misspent and depleted like uranium shelling out,
For overpriced cookies,
Wrapped in plastic,
That taste like air conditioning.
Last seen in the last scene from the movie with that guy who does that thing that one time that was cool yeah that movies rocks,
Last seen rocking out to his own rhythm,
When earphones are bunker windows,
Back into down town mental health states,
Last seen swan-diving into Ani DiFranco lyrics,
Late night at Leicester square,
Living in clip while chewing the fat,
From those overpriced feeds.
Leading rebellions against any kind of commonality,
Common sense, or common causes,
Last seen causing problems in Spanish bus stops,
Like yeah you call the fuckin’ cops!
Last seen on the offensive during an anxiety attack,
Last seen of the floors crunching guts into numbers,
Fit to be seen,
From emotionally safe distances.
Still sitting there fantasising from behind his sunshades,
Smirk on his face.
Last seen trying to hide in plain sight,
Running for the shadows,
And cursing his own left footprints,
Like they were a bin full of broken umbrellas in a spring hail storm.
Last seen on a computer screen,
Last seen seeing himself on a computer screen,
Last seen looking for himself on a computer screen,
Last seen as a status update, lately the last one to know,
Last seen missing that last thing said.
Catching his own reflection with a ghost writing spirit,
But not realising that this mirror had it backwards.
Last seen where he swears he saw it there before,
Last seen blurring against his own hindsight,
In second hand stories.
Last seen never to hear from himself again,
Silhouette of a shape that fit to your description,
At poor resolution.
Leaving off just a little too late before it got awkward,
Waiting long enough to get busted,
But leaving before he got anyone’s attention.
Last seen in circles looking for his own tale,
Running it into exhaustion.
Last seen expecting himself to be sighted,
In every same-but-different way,
Last seen waiting somewhere,
What he will actually look like,