I feel boxed in. I can barely breathe.
Every instance of every day, held against me.
If I did the work– the right work, enough of it.
Each slip in conduct, indicators of my entire being.
It is a microcosm of so many things.
One wrong word held against you forever,
A diseased part that consumes you
By society, not the sickness itself.
It is an epidemic,
A civilisation of extremes and generalisations.
And so they come to the decision
That the brain is the grail
Instead of the heart.
I feel it pounding inside my chest
Scratching against the walls of my ribs
Begging for it to somehow be seen.
Oh heart, but you are fraught with so many things.
To put you up would be to serve you on a chopping board,
Your river-flowing veins run dry.
And no matter how hard you try,
You will never quench the likings of all in the city.
And you should know... why won't you learn?
Parts of you have become brittle
Sprinting in all directions for all seven billion people.
xx, CLL
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