Strangling Thoughts

There are days when I wake up scared,
because I’m slipping through these cracks,
like my saviors piano fingers
no longer knew the notes it took
to keep my feet moving.

I’m convinced that my veins
are now made of steel,
because my blood
always seems to want to escape
and my heart pounds against
this rusty ribcage
and every time my eyes open
there’s a one-sided conversation
going on in my head
and I can’t tell you what he says,
but out loud
the answers
are always
no, although
he keeps to his repetition
does anything I don’t like.


About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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