Friday, January 11, 2019

Sick

My head feels heavy
A weight propped up
On the rope of my spine
My eyes feel like small peaches
Set into webs of tissue paper
Threatening to fall back into my skull
My tongue fills the space of my mouth
Spilling into the sea wall that is my throat
Barnacle clad coquina
A whetstone that puts an edge on my words
Someone has taken my arms and hands
And sewn a ribbon under my skin
Wrapping and binding the flesh onto my bones
Pulling the line too tight
And my feet don't exist at all
Just bare bone and tendon
That push into the earth where I stand
And something in me burns
Is burning me alive
I feel every inch of my existence
I am a fire