Seventeen days spent on a ship,
Drifting past on a half parched lip.
Sixteen days I saw the world,
For what it was, empty and full.
Fifteen days to go I said,
I readied my pack, my quilt and bed.
Fourteen days I thought to wait,
Before my knife drank blood.
And thirteen never came,
For time stopped, a river fain,
It skipped to one, and stopped again,
Before the sun set in vain.
And now stuck in the last day,
A parched lip, and mapped veins.
Seventeen days turned to years,
And I still stuck in this game.
YOU ARE READING
Often confusing
PoetrySecond part to a muses musings because wattpad has a story limit. . . I mean an enthralling book of stories
