I climb the beam, feeling the
skin of my toes brush against the wood
of the beam,
the beams of the sun hitting me
on my back shoulders
forehead bridge of my nose right down to my
very tippy-toes. If I walk the plank
can I jump into the sea, or can I find salvation
when my body skims the shank
of a shark? I am but a
drop in the ocean change in the weather the softest
hue of grey in an over-bearing thundercloud.
when the rain comes it pours down my face;
anguish cheats its way across the gradual
ascension of an emotional roller-coaster,
splitting my face in two already, so that
I am a crumpled paper-bag.
when the rain comes my face is
marred by a frown and the disease of
though I am so full I am so empty,
bursting at the seams,
walking along those beams.
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