Friday, 22 September 2017

My Days

I've run out of free space
On the walls of my head
To mark lines to count days
When I feel like a ship;
Rudderless, sailing without a sail.
On some days there is a snap
And I find myself an oar.
There is a surge, and I row,
But just as quickly, I get low.
The ship sinks, fading away
And I am one with the water—
Cold, blue, clear, blackness.
There is a rush underneath
And waves pull out my ship.
Hard creaking floor and skin.
Up and down, up and down,
Close, closer to the sky
But never, ever, close enough.
Seasick, lifesick, I belch,
And fall into the water
Again, again, again, again