By Maté Jarai


You sit at your desk

in the dark because

the bulb has died and you

can’t buy a new one.

You want to but you can’t.


People have emptied you

and you can’t be out there

in an aisle full of shoppers

choosing a lightbulb and

acting like things are good.

This darkness is like a cave

and that’s what you really need –

a dark cave, just you.


You whisper,

‘Someone just give

me a chance’

but that chance

isn’t coming.

It hasn’t even though

you bled for it and

worked your fingers

to the bone,

your eyes half-blind

for it.


It’s a last call.

It’s desperate and you

wince at the desperation

of yourself.

No chances, no help,

just you in this dark

but out there

is lonelier,

and that’s why

you start to sing

hoping the

neighbours wake

and tell you to

shut the fuck up.


Maté Jarai is editor-in-chief of cephalopress. He has a PhD in Creative Writing from Southampton University.  He has three poetry collections which are available on amazon via Follow him on twitter and instagram @matejarai. 

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