Paradigm

There's a weary equilibrium

hidden in each person's

white blood cells. Nurtured in

the grey matter of the brain.

 

There is a weary equilibrium and

it trudges through my nerves like

staccato played on broken strings and

it echoes. I hear it in my lungs

 

every time I set out to breathe.

There is a weary equilibrium,

a recipe for a happy-ever-after,

and, when no-one is looking,

 

it reinforces my spine and parts

my fingers until they're about to break

and when it seizes me by my neck

I kick and scream and curse and cry

 

so it wouldn't paralyse me again.

There is a weary equilibrium.

An acid for every set of eyes

bravely looking upwards,

 

a fire burning down bridges to reality

as soon as a foot is set down upon them,

a collar for every dog on the run

for some untamed freedoms.

Reviews

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Great writing.!

[Little Birdie]

Thank you :)

[Mark]

beautiful, strange, sad and resigned. I love this. :)

[Little Birdie]

Thaaank you! :D