I’m doing well I suppose,
I remember worse times, the worst,
Running on empty vessels as all the blood went to my brain, and my heart and made me a-buzz with fear and haste and agitation for months.
When I stood shaking in the shower, feeling odd in my own body, feeling strange behind the glassy plastic.
And in this present moment, on the other side of town.
Another mind aches as yours does.
A kindred Sorrow over brick walls and rooftops.
A Sorrow builds and grows in fluxing rivets, unpleasant surging swell,
renewal taking strength from hordes of sources,
running together, coming together,
into a living organ that reaches into living things.
It doesn’t remain shadowy.
It was never abstract.
And the lucky are touched by it’s delicate hand,
And the rest are stomped into the tread of it’s boot.
Something simple can be complicated by years of conditioning, and the condition of an individual’s state of mind can be so wholly warped into stone through generations of insidious whittling.
Poppy in combat
with the mirrored vision of inadequacy echoed through
her mother’s ears,
peppered by her father’s mouth.
I am wholly significant to myself,
Thank you self for feeding me,
for loving me,
for holding me
Thank you self for bathing me in warm waters,
for letting me rest,
for protecting my blessed heart,
that I myself blessed,
with words spoken without the mouth,
with love given without expectation or pressure or resentment.
Carla became a bag of wet sand and a quiver ran under her face,
She was leaving to a place unwillingly visited.
Her body hardened to a frozen hunk while she flitted over the time barrier, through the pain-wall, to be cast down so cruelly into the fray.
Her new body was the trauma she had once felt, in the past – crystallised into a glass sculpture of herself.
She grasped to be let out behind rustling crepe paper eyelids and the screams escaped, but she couldn’t hear them under thick syrup.
“Flashback” gives the illusion of speed, but the shutter can keep clicking.