She is turning in now,
To the syrup grey of the city scape:
Splintering limbs to fit into cracks
And stripping her flesh to line
The potholes; the local council smiles
At the diminished road repair fees.
She is turning in now,
Before the stairs to the sky break:
Spraying her blood on the old brick tiles
And plucking her vocal chords out
To busk with; the local players grin
At the spectacle which reins the coins in.
She is turning in now,
While the skyline is scrubbed senseless:
Shooting her gouged eyes up like marbles
So they are first to taste the morning light;
And this time only the birds laugh
For they recognise her need to escape-
And the circular motion of constant daybreak.
When the brow of the horizon softens,
She turns once more into dust.
There is a girl I know with clinical depression and as much as the crushing routine of academia messes with us all, I see its effects on her a lot.
This is about the idea of never being able to rest even when you rip yourself apart to do so.
For Wiki <3