This poem represents the mind in regression. A deteriorating state of mind and being. A poem written in the throws of anxiety.

There is a chain latched on my throbbing heart


the crows’ wrinkled claw sunk into my shoulder until it drew blood 

I’ve been circling these woods, blind, bloodied,

my raw flesh like curdled milk under sun

my lids batter tears like armour clanging


I cannot draw the arrow from my heart

I cannot retrieve my head buried in murky thought  

it sees not the fairytale of hope

bars, steal bars glaring at me, a twinkle in their silvery slave battered arms

I am barred

barred by my reflection

barred in fear of rejection


that dagger-punctured thigh

bled to death

feel the throbbing of an emptying organ

like the flap of dead skin over wound

I hover uselessly above ground 

when I should sink

the swell of my bosom heaves defeat

if you finger my eyes you will feel the sockets

moist and nostalgic

thick with pools of regret 

can you see?

i feel fine