by Sabne Raznik

“Too Much”

Room is tinny, childlike –

A music box:

High-pitched notes from a distance,

And your voice – exhausted, thin,

But still velvet on skin –

Behind an unseen door

Down a nearby corridor.

It’s late and I steady myself

On the first sturdy object to hand.

Under my fingers, your replaced black shirt,

Wet with show sweat.

I recoil and lean against cold

Backstage wall –

Listen to echoes of fan squeals

And raucous after-party.

But I grew up in semi-dark, semi-quiet

Alone in a crowd –

Muted and blue.

I don’t know how to say this:

Sometimes you’re not enough –

When I don’t recognise the world I live in

And loneliness reminds

That it is and always has been

My best friend,

When the world is alien,

And you are too much of it.