The 7-Day Itch.

a little mixed up in the head of late

Now I’m breathing in recycled dust

And coughing up a lung to

Scratch the itch.

 

When I try to say in words

How it feels to be living

The way I’m living,

It snags in my throat

Snatching my air

And I fear I’ll never be able to say it

So you will understand.

 

Now I’m caught off-guard

By the magnificence of a

New liberation

Though I fear it came at the wrong time

Like so many other things…

 

So now I have to rearrange

The broken puzzle of my circumstances,

Balance each precious plate upon

Each pointed finger

And send them spinning,

Praying that they won’t break

By my hand.

 

Someone should really prepare us for

Things like this.

Someone older and wiser

Who knows of life and the universe,

And who’ve discovered what truly matters

In the end.

 

Someone should’ve asked me

If this was ok, because

Now I’m not so sure

If I even know.

 

Now, I’m all laid out

With a familiar glow;

A warm, familiar comfort

Disturbed by a ringing in my ears

And I think that

Now, it’s time for me to go.

Reviews

[Edward Clay]

i like the feeling this created. the images of not knowing what to say or even how to say it at the start are clear, vivid and very well constructed. there was a sense of melancholy toward the end, that rang like the sound in your ears.