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Sep 2020
It is not cosy
in my bodyhome, sweating
on the bed, I stretch out wide

to an X
(value unknown)
to cool down

but there is no wind
and the air is damp
with sorrow for my fate

and with fear that this is the last
I am able to sustain, that
thereafter, it will be too bad

(I'm not sure what -
  sometimes it is too dark
  then again the light shines too bright)

I need space and breath
to fight, I am a fighter
in my head and my belly

surrounded, constricted
and suffocated, plenty of air
but not for me?

Stings and cramps
for the danger, the gong rings
(for a new round)
For Maria Godschalk

Collection β€œOn living on [1]"
Zywa
Written by
Zywa
143
 
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