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tormented be this mind of mine
caught adrift, a worrying sign.
I wish to escape this made bed.

Dread, cloying and desperate dread,
filling and swirling 'round my head.
How I wish to see open sky.

Buried, dried, unable to cry,
A lost wail, muted, coldly dry.
This heart of mine, flightless, must fly.

Marvel in my self disdaining,
knowing some will come, while aiming
for my waning heart, bleeding naught.

My anguish a new spectacle
to be relished, nigh a heckle.
Look now, at this lost, young bird.

• Published December 29, 2022, 19:01
• in The Swamp
• in Vents and or Rants
• is not continuable by others
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