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 @ https://thelmavonsalem.com
Image – Pinterest