Cough Cough — New Poems

The show just got renewed for its last season.
 I see the way you argue over titles like they matter now—
 same script, different pain,
 every climax just a rerun of who breaks first.
 You talk in circles like it’s gospel,
 while I’ve been writing my silence in the margins.
 Keep the popcorn—nah, grab a notepad.
 This one’s not for entertainment. It’s evidence.
 You said physics don’t lie—
 but his actions bent time,
 had you questioning if the past could bleed forward.
 So we pretend—
 pretend like you ain’t see him changing gears,
 like movement ain’t a miracle after trauma.
 So tell me:
 is it fear?
 Or did you just witness brilliance and label it danger?
 ’Cause sometimes the most broken ones
 write the cleanest exits.
 Sometimes anxiety ain’t a red flag—
 it’s a warning to the world
 that he’s still breathing.
 Still writing.
 Still fighting.
 Still here.
 Final season or not.