'How can I sit here,'
you must wonder
'and repeat all of the things
that have placed me in this cage.'
If I cannot change that
then how am I ever
going to live by a word
I only ever said
between my teeth.
I did not trust it,
so it failed me.
Now I do,
it is failing me.
The world carries on.
Chopin plays on;
I no longer enjoy him there,
because now I need him.
Unlike Chopin
I am no longer needed.
It is incomprehensible:
in and amongst the longing
to reverse those mistakes
which drone like wasps in each ear;
both stings reaching deep in to my gut,
There is still you.