Losing The Half Heart...

Am I frozen in oil?

Tacky ice doesn’t help me gain traction,

Or have I pushed out too far to sea?

Buried deep with lungs full of soil?

Part time thoughts take my words around the Wrekin,

Late mornings and early nightmares,

Remembering a face is critically impossible,

Apart when they’re shadows on the wall creeping,

Disappointed that the days leave so soon,

Yet I push them away in the grey and alarmed,

Longing for the nighttime slumber,

But feeling sick of the sun and moon.