The needle

The needle comes and goes
forgotten completely
until the day it returns
biting skin and leaving indelible stains

Each mark etched
is no less than a word itself
spanning decades
Drawn in pains of grey

The words tell a story I have forgotten
like someone else’s map
The pain long gone
in stinging lines of black ink

Maybe the story is never finished
anymore than a stream running to sea
Maybe it is my story to the world
the story of here I am

It was cold out

I wrapped up and went walking
it was cold out
I picked up two little stones to warm my hands

The wind from the North
smelt of snow
My nose running for shelter in my beard

I longed for something and nothing
stumbling along hidden paths
Through brambles of thoughts

I trod in dog shit
It was cold out
I picked up two little stones to warm my hands

She’s shining through the curtains again

The full moon
Keeps me up another long night
She’s shining through the curtains again

I wear a cossack hat in bed
To keep my brain from freezing
In case I should fall asleep

My bed companions have crippled my legs
For some reason I cannot move them
Maybe because they breathe contentment

When I do sleep I watch my dreams like movies
And yet still I know I am awake
My surroundings still tangible

Dreams so real
I am left with emotional scars
That take time to leave

The full moon
Keeps me up another long night
She’s shining through the curtains again