heads brimming with
words, brimming with
sentences and phrases,
inky stains and lines
and biro marks, chewed
pen lids and cracked
plastic, filling heads and
filling ears and covering
eyes, crumbling words
into the pages of your
skin and begging to
open your mouth and
open your fingers and
open your heart, and you
open everything,
but the words fall flat
and go nowhere.
whoops, try again?
there's no harm in
restarting.
YOU ARE READING
the colour of mirrors
Poésiebecause there's only ever a moment, in between the waiting and the ones who are waited for.
