The storm is brewing.
It’s nothing new in
My life but it’s still not nice.
Swords, words, shards of ice.
Let it blow,
This time walk away and
Ignore the show.
Let it blow,
Standing in the eye
Won’t make the storm go.
Let it blow.
Learning to be ill
Institutionalised one day at a time.
The growing call of the sofa.
New found safety.
A perilous walk around the block.
It has to be this way.
My body has to go there this time.
It was never meant to be straight forward.
The passing of time.
Managing others’ expectations still.
Death’s door one minute.
Whispered concerns.
Looks.
Even the dog.
Especially the dog.
Any nice plans? as the cannula is removed.
Extremities of what others see.
I am no different to a boy,
A sharp reminder that I became the person I am,
By intention and design.
All that is on pause for now.
Its frailty all too apparent.
Its very existence a shock.
A forgotten me reappearing in the mirror.