small

A thousand guys better than me,

I stared into the blue.

Something about the colour,

something deeper there

spoke of solving problems.

Didn’t help me impress you.

 

On the train,

centrally wedged,

I felt like a child again.

I was molten in my seat,

fever taking hold.

But it wasn’t just my body,

specks in my mind, pain in my skull

made me feel more than old.

 

I get tired more often,

I wish the air to dissolve me.

My patience used to be my pride

but now I find it hard to soften.

 

I curse the change,

I thought I had my head around it

but under the surface of my skin

I’m aggravated, feeling strange.

 

I’m a power surge,

happy

and sad

are interchangeable,

as is my urge

towards recklessness and caution.

 

Don’t mess it up

I tell myself

before I begin to sweat.

Holes in my hull,

I don’t fill up.

 

I would drive away

if survival wasn’t a reason to stay.

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They Come In Threes

The most disturbing thing I’ve heard

was a man saying,

when describing a woman hit by a train;

“she popped, it was hectic.”

 

I churned like the harbour

from the pain

in my ankle,

knowing she didn’t want me,

and from the shock

of living in a world

such as this,

where that man exists.

 

“There was nothing left of her.”

These words in my head

from someone I now wished was dead.

I turned around

and saw the brightest of smiles

from a baby,

in the bed of his father’s arm.

If time didn’t then stand still,

it never will.