The floor is warm.
Outside is still for once.
Notes of French accordions
swirl in my ears’ soul.
And there is a lost expression
searching for the tears within
that say: “You never meant  a thing.”


Surging with unexpressed frustration
the Pain comes alive;
Reporting that all activity
points to a truth I’m terrified to see.
My mind drags itself around these walls;
only to return to the centre of it all.

Within four walls there is no escape.
I cannot allow myself release,
until I see the sunshine of my truth.
Every 12 months it comes to this:
Now I have no reason to feel or believe
this might ever be any other way.

The bed is too far for comfort;
The world unknown to me for refuge.
My company is sliced open
with dreams of you telling my heart
its better this way for now:
All this time the dead trees
flower with soft, cold snow.