tomorrow i'll unpick the stitches
and see if it unsticks me;
all my failures to fester there --
my stomach to curl like a barb
and my mouth turn to salt --
(and i'll be sick i swear)
(22/03/2017)
YOU ARE READING
THE OCEAN
Poetry'In the old days at home the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, black shadows moved about in them, the roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and...
