With a cracked bone in my body I walk a mountain a time Emotions have piled Hours have piled Time flows a muddy river. They say hard work breeds a garden- Autumn seems to have descended. Warm colours trapped in leaves cry Withering trees stand with a straight spine. A white sky is a mirror White sea shares its light- Sun is melting in the over heated.. Cup of water that I drink each night. • ~insight07 •
My sense of familiarity with the world feels strange. Sometimes, it extends to cities at once. Sometimes, it is the journey between 2 cities. Sometimes, it is a conversation with a face that is changing. Sometimes, it is the way a cushion is placed in my room. Sometimes, it is the smell of people and the way they keep their hair, the movement of their limbs. Sometimes, it is with the blue sky; the dome of our heads similar. Sometimes, it is my own two shoes sitting outside in the cold Against a cold door. Sometimes, it is the tiny spider that webs inside me, still unknown to my anatomy- Hair, bones, movements A pile of paper crushed in a corner, a mountain against a sky So blue, so blue • ~insight07
The taste of these days Is ice on my tongue. I swallow the melting pieces My neck feeling numb. Chills run down my spine Pins and needles Prick my fingertips. An ache spreads from my jaw to my head All across the bowl of my brain. Tiny fishes shiver in the cold waves That has entered the mindspace Drifting, drifting away To a particular thought that’s bleeding me- What will be? • ~insight07
Saturday is not a Saturday anymore but The number of spiders crawling under my skin A chair is not just for me but the weight of thoughts That just sit inside of me. No light, artificial or from a device Is ever bright enough. If I don’t have the wall up close Very close Touching my eye lid, I feel I will fall apart. Structures becomes liquid and I am drenched in my room. It is cold, my fingers are burning- red at the tips Match sticks Burning all at once, I don’t have enough air in my only two lungs Isolated in my chest, to put the fire out.
I feel my hair, it is soft. Maybe the only part of my anatomy I take care of Consistently- I cannot fall apart or let them fall. Slowly, but shakily. Pretense of a steady past. • ~insight07
Access prose and poems in my book, “Dreaming in a Fish Bowl”!