me.
me.
skin and bones
and thoughts and stones
that drag me
d
o
w
n
as they cling to me,
their claws grasping,
my tongue lapsing,
their weight
rising, rising,
d
o
w
n
to the depths of surprise
and the caves of demise,
but I try,
and I pry
my fingers
away
from their locks of
indecision,
and I try,
and I pry
my eyes
p
u
from their hole of
insecurity
towards the
pen.
trees and leaves
and flowers and breeze
on my island for
one
where music
l a s
f o t
through the winds
and boats clamber
towards the rocky shores,
but they bash against the waves
that swallow them
with a rush
as the words start
m a r c h i n g
across the paper
that is the sand
scurrying, scurrying
in swirls and dips
and peaks and lips
that whisper their story
in
s h e r
i v i g
n
lines and curves and dots
that assure me
through fantastic lies
with swirling skies
that I am
me.