Friday 20th February

150220

DANCING IN THE AIRLOCK:

Flat out then ill, alone in an empty house, everybody
somewhere else, do I smell? This is the Christmas
I never had, the break I was holding myself in for,
running into free-fall when all I craved was somewhere safe
for a few days, a clearing, space, a clean place, gentle feel-good
where I could say my name without flinching. The house is empty,
body seems to be responding to the medication, head not so scrambled.
I even picked up a guitar.

(K)

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