Noises Off

Noises Off

Staring at an empty page
Is never quite enough, though
It helps control the inner rage
That comes, in stages:
First feeling a little rough, though
Maintaining semblance of control,
A warning sign of what’s to come
It's strange, how thinking that
Something must be avoided, in
Some way sees diversion voided,
That moment of annoyance, suppressed,
Only indicates that it is already
Too late to address the inner voices.
The noises off become the play,
The symptoms that, in stages, betray
The reality: that all was already lost.
Only hindsight counts the cost,
Observes with wry certainty that,
Once again, you have been got,
Been taken in by your inability
To consciously override what,
In subconscious terms, has been
Decided, determined, and the rest
Is merely acting out the inevitable.