Brain Storm.

The hands see the change I’ve been pushing towards.
A tailor made forward to suit one’s self,
This brain’s stage will extinct my health.

The eyes smell the words I’ve been grieving for.
A repetitive strain from inside the skull,
My brain’s cage will feast but will never be full.

And so, the brain triggers the flashbacks I’ve felt before.
A three course serving I’ve been forced to gift,
As I twist the fork into the storm, the abyss, a bliss.

© Thelma Von Salem @
Image – Pinterest

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