Your mind was restless then,
thoughts scattered,
like envelopes pushed through
a letter box,
splayed across the floor,
and kicked around.
Ideas clicking through your head,
an ancient slide machine
pulling up tattered plans –
like running away,
escaping to distant shores,
with foreign waves washing over you,
But they’d retreat back into the ocean,
And you’d rage that you were unchanged.
Sitting had always been
uncomfortable for you,
there seemed to be
shards of glass,
sharp bottle green spikes,
threatening to cut you –
you’d fidget around,
squirm, to stop them from
tearing into your skin.
You were restless then.
But now –
you’re different,
you lie in bed,
still.
whilst the morning sun
wrestles through the curtains and
rests on your face.
