pages turn


pages turn
blanket unused
no scratches
or creases

I cannot mirror
my mind
in the bleached fibers
no colour or ink
that blooms under my finger tips
within the stretched skin
covering my heart

although I try

I stare at the blank wall
wondering why
the words stop
at the glass

no not why
I know the answer

but why will they not move past
the chrystaline membrane
to breathe fresh air

pen picked up, put down
another torn page
blank screen
tick tack
then nothing

like a heart beating
breath held
and waiting
day 1

30 days of poetry
theme: Two of Cups


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