I am tired
My eyelids heavy
My lips are raw
My fingers crack.
I have gills
Not lungs inside me
Breath far stretched
Held for sea salt.
I feel my bones
Under this cotton
Layers weighted
In baby pink.
I had tall wings
Now cut and taped down
Itch paper skin
Feathers plucked.
Tin can laughter
Staccato sounds
For dimming eyes
And withered minds.
Where grey pavement
Meets green scrub corner
Sky vertical
Stare in-between.
The more I look
The bigger it grows
It fills the cracks
And tears the sides.
They pity me
And I throw it back
They think their years
Are painted gold.
Oh my young ones
Fear not the end state
You should envy
You should hope.
In my brown chair
With boiled shoes and teeth
I have left this
World of held voices.
I see the split
Of the universe
Not on my way
But already there.
Leave a Reply