I can’t find the words, though I feel them
Lurching around my chest like ships in a storm,
Bouncing off my ribs and
Scraping my throat with their masts.

Eighteen years in a paper skin,
An insubstantial prison, a swathe,
Drawing black rings around my eyes
And wearing **** like a badge of honour.

I’ve been eroded all my life
Washed away by winds and whispers, reduced
To this transparent skeleton,
Heavy with this rotting chameleon flesh.