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Jul 2019
My head in my bed doesn’t work quite right
I’m awake until I break, day and night.
With the voices and the choices that I wish to expel
and the deepest of the secrets I could never tell.

My brain; a stain inside my prisoned skull,
I sharpen it, spear from stick, but it’s too dull.
With the facts free, how they trap me, but I never tried to run away,
my feet sore, a path I’ve taken before, but could never stay.

The ivory teeth chomping away at my sleep,
in vain I try to get high, but I’m just too deep.
With the last of my past that I try to forget,
so I reprise a sunrise but it becomes a sunset.

My head in my bed doesn’t work quite right
what will it take for me to break and appreciate the light?
I rejoice in the choices that I can’t repel,
and the cheapest of the secrets of how I fell.
Em MacKenzie
Written by
Em MacKenzie  30/F/Ottawa
     Patrick, Jayne E and Crow
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