4 December 2016

Bones which knew no past existence
declare their right to life,
with nails and acid
that deteriorate cartilage guilt-free,
radiating from the extremes
to the buried heart within.

Sleep bypasses.
Quite rightly so.
An intelligent guest who
knows its better to enter
a peaceful, quiet home instead
of this toy soldier war-zone.

I cast no blame;
utter apologies
to my appendages
’til turmoil is
achieved in the head.

Walking is a past dream,
unsure if the life which
dreamt it was even mine.

My bones, dissent.
They are not mine.
They have seceded this Union,
an agreement in the past
that had been perfectly fine.

Toss and turn on the back which is still.
The sunrise is overrated: I see its
colours drench my walls.

Traffic hums,
my body still burns.
Shipping forecasts appear
and submerge.

When it rains it pours
and when it pours it
pours acid.
A new wrinkle on my face has
made itself cosy and warm.

At least someone is content
and has won from this war.