I shift quicker than a roaring summer storm.
I yearn for a home outside myself,
where I am back to being me.
I yearn for a mist to fall upon my tongue
made of everything I am.
Hoping for it to send a tingle
of familiar life back through my being.
For the hum of the sun to beat down and reigning my heat.
My blood boils as I reach for something I cannot grasp.
By and by,
I will wake.
This piece was published in Volume 27, Number 2 of Asylum Magazine, a mental health magazine based out of the UK.
Post a Comment