…it’s frightening that
sometime i might look back
on this place and think it to be
synonymous with innocence
but so much has changed.
years floating over me, long
seaweed tendrils catching in my
hair
and
in my fear i have
changed all the lightbulbs. my
life is sequestered in 20
watt shades, ruled in the half light, this
half life.
i wish to run
from the confines of this space
i see my body as only meat
sweet meat machine breaking down
rusting. wrinkles.
(this morning i went out
and i came back with this)
the label blaring “99p”, black on
yellow. plastic wrapped
sterile. detached.
i am guaranteed no pain.
(this is what the instruction booklet said)
but what would be the outcome?
would there be a
stream, an uncontrollable
flood?
or just bloodless clay?
(surely just splicing just one little
purple blue line
wouldn’t be too damaging?)
i am
isolated among so many
voices. four neat lines on my
palm, ordered row. my soldiers
of beaded blood, fighting so
swiftly, but against who? what if
people notice this war?
my voice is trapped in
a huge glut over my head
everyday i spiral a bit
further down
the army carries on fighting
until there is no virgin ground
left
all is a battlefield
i can feel my mind dis
jointed
no-one understands how my
train of thought pulls itself,
driverless, automated through deserts,
ghost towns
i search for myself, for anybody
i find a broken jar
the shards score my hands
i am marked forever