No foxes visit me at the dead of the night.
I am alone and dreamless
Disintegrating in my own mind
All over the room, in shards.
I spill across my skin.
The empty space that my body occupied
Seems too oppressive to contain.
I transcend above it.
Only to bump at the ceiling,
Like a helium balloon from a postmodern childhood.Outside, the world bleeds itself to death.
I stand near my window and try to pick up sirens.
Revolutions come and go.
Jodie says that the line between a visionary and a fool is a thin one
and I had better be one or the other.
But I don’t believe it.
I am only a cynic
Trapped in ambiguity, I can’t decide which side to fight on.
I’ll never leave the house, anyway.
I have lost my mind in stagnation, they wouldn’t let me out of
the patterns in the wallpaper.I am a cynic
Dwelling in ambiguity
and disintegrating in my mind
in shards of yellow rose all across the room.
YOU ARE READING
Opus
Poetrya lonely Saturday conversation on the wrong side of the yellow bedroom curtains. ... || Wattys Winner 2018 ||