Words by Jordan White
Feature image by Bianca Pibworth
It’s a panic attack, short-breathed and red-faced, in the kitchen.
It’s the need for a U-turn on a one-way strip.
It’s the feeling of empty – vaguely familiar – in a sweaty nightclub full of people.
It’s reaching for one more glass of red, though one too many.
It’s your last cigarette… the third time this month.
It’s being so alone before a skyline full of excitement and lust.
It’s a wrong midnight kiss, wide-eyed, on your seventeenth New Year’s Eve.
It’s a collection of what could’ve been, if only you were brave enough to jump.
It’s deciphering your emotions mid-January.
It’s a cold sweat, one unshakable.
It’s the art of disappearing, silently, into the haze of a grey night, mid-July.
This piece was originally published in Edition 34 of Verse. View it in its original PDF form via ISSUU.