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Nov 2017
On nights that sleep won't come
Even when we call it's name
Singing it's praise in our prayers
Begging like basking street performers
Desperate as a drenched sparrow

Caught in a rain of my own
Trickling dark red drops of mildew
Down my weary shoulders
Cradling my sallow face
Clouding my blurred vision

These nights hang low like dampened skies
Hollow storms filled with empty thunders
Draughts wearing a wet cloak
Pretending to be an upcoming rain
Steered by gales of Arctic wind

Piercing through my decrepit bones
Dropping pins and needles under my skin
The pain coursing through my veins
As bright as the paint staining my fingertips
Dripping destitute and distraught

Devastating images drowned my mind
In visions of broken vessels
Sunken ships and battered corpses
Wearing broken sails like a second skin
Boiling blood that has turned cold
As waters of the Antarctic ocean
Léia Cheshire Estérel
Written by
Léia Cheshire Estérel  24/Two-Spirit/Lalaland
(24/Two-Spirit/Lalaland)   
  425
     Jon Sawyer and Timothy
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