Poetry

After a meeting

My bones are rock, the act of talking

leeching the energy from my mind

even though I know I look completely comfortable.

I get home, in my own space;

that’s when it comes out. Materialises.

The heaviness. The weight.

I deaden, yet laugh maniacally

as it rains from my body.

I’m tired.

Poetry

Ramble Tangle

My eyes are tired,

it’s been far too long,

examining words

I’d long thought were gone.

 

The night draws up,

a blanket to my chin,

yet the letters reel on,

I cannot give in.

 

Searching and searching,

I sew back my soul,

catching those secrets

I’d left to grow cold.

 

Time makes it clear,

the rivers flow by,

I’ll take my chance now,

speaking no lie.

 

Poetry

Discombobulate

The fog looms behind my eyes threatening

to seep out if I widen them enough.

Yet my eyes aren’t wide at all, they’re half

closed, eyelids sinking low despite the overwhelming

rushes of air, clinking of keys, feet shuffling

a little too close and perfume forcing its way up my nostrils.

I can feel my body one moment, and in the next

it’s lost, disconnected and I’m a floating head.

A floating head with a parroting voice, a mimic,

a copycat of everything, even emotions.

Not that I don’t feel my own. Mine just won’t display.