.
Play.
I do not know which iteration of myself
I am pleading with this time,
but let me ask on my knees if I will still be you
when I get to wherever I’m supposed to end up.
When you say ‘try again’ I reset,
slam myself into doors and windows until
the milk of my bones seeps back
into amniotic fluid, and then I am here again.
I am here again, and now
I have new mistakes to make.
Pause. Confusion. Breathe. Play.
There’s a body in the glass,
fragments plucking themselves
through parallelities;
there’s something beautiful
next to something that stings,
and they pool together
like watercolours against a sky
where you can pluck your finger
from the air and lay claim to the spot
where you think the end might be.
If you want the end to be yours,
then take it. Tell me
how I should be going about this,
and if you can watch as I
ruin everything again, let yourself
become dust in the air
and surround me with the control
that I do not have.
I’m not in control.
I’m never in control.
And there’s something absurd in the air
that pushes the day to the horizon
again.
It’s up to you now.
Pause. Rewind.
.
From a collection of poetry I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in second year of university, titled 'Spiral'.
