The remnants from every last past bunch
Of confrontation and confusion with such and such
Pile up till it becomes too much
I panic, then in a frantic desperation motion I reach out to clutch
At a drifting safety line I can no longer touch
In a rush I removed both legs to manufacturer a crutch
Sometimes it's hard to translate a hunch

©2024

Fashioning a new crutch
For one’s old crutch

Might never heal
One’s achilles heel

promises of love
and dediction
we believe we are grown
but inside of us
just under the surface
is a child wanting to be comforted
to be loved
so we hide this part of us
the colours in our mind slowly dying
because they say to keep something maintained you
must nourish it
but the nourishment we need
is rare
and this makes our palettes grey
resorting to unorthodox versions of what we need
crutches and supports
that people refuse to speak about
the childhood friend
that moved away
when you were young
unable to cohere as to why
they couldn't stay
wrapped in the dreamland
of explosive joy