I find my recent days filled with mild hypertension
and nailbeds stained purple with acrylic paint-
or is that a bruise?
It’s getting harder to sleep lately, but that’s not unusual.
I’ve tossed and turned for as long as I can remember.
Uneasy for reasons unknown.
Longing for something unnamable.
Something new.
Normalcy keeps slipping through my fingers like sand and
it’s unclear where it ends and where reality begins-
is this reality?
Is it mine?
Is this restless, undead creature a reflection
of my current state?
Are these the consequences of my
‘innocent intentions’?
Or is my mind running wild with misguided apprehension?
Some nights are worse than others.
Sometimes Medusa watches
through the pendant around my neck,
as does the moon,
as does the noose,
as does the muse.
WILDsound Writing Festival 