Ode to a plastic bag (or: a sonnet possibly found binned in a Scottish safehouse)

Ode to a plastic bag (or: a sonnet possibly found binned in a Scottish safehouse)

Is this.... TMA fanfic? I think this is TMA fanfic. Don't look at me. I just wanted to practice writing sonnets and needed a subject and my brain immediately said "give me post-lonely Martin Blackwood or give me death" and what can I say. I Do Not Control The Hyperfixation.

Also, yes, I break the sonnet rules at the end (or, well, HOPEFULLY only at the end). Is it laziness? Certainly, but I do have at least one content-related justification for it. Go wild (hint: it has to do with state of mind).

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I walk these lonely streets in hope I’ll find
Some in-the-moment wonder that says ‘life’
Some proof to irrefutably remind
Me of the fact that people here still thrive.

And that the world is not the way it seemed
When willful mist swirled slow before my eyes;
The way it still is sometimes in my dreams
Where all your loving words just sound like lies.

Am I alone again the way I fear?
To my surprise a movement draws my eye
And once again I find that I’m still here;
As I begin to laugh until I cry:

A plastic bag majestic in the air
And running after it is you, cursing,

But there.

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