SUNK

Here I sit
Emitting brick-like sighs,
Soon I should have something solid:
A wall to crack my head on.
You say that's not funny,
But would you listen then
And question the pain of
The reddening pool?
Even drown, perhaps, in the
Too colourful facts.
A fear enacted, leaving
Numbing veins and sticky flesh
Smashed of their dreams.
Helplessly misunderstood.

© Nicki Hastie
Date of original poem: September 1986

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