If I were put upon a cloud to strum

a harp, would other angels string along?

I doubt they’d even listen. I have come

to realise that I do not belong

in anybody’s thoughts. To question why

Is unavailing. Every time I think

about my cheerless plight I tend to cry,

as grown men do in solitude. I drink

a toast! To my imaginary friend

and lover, who preserves my sanity,

transcending my sobriety, to end

my disenchantment with reality.