There was a girl on an island once,she lived all alone by the bay.Her ankle was chained to the land,she longed for wings to fly away.
I’m afraid I’ve brokenfrom realityand I wouldn’t put this in poetrynormally,but every lighthas its shadow.
The ‘I’ subjective to oneselfConfused, obsessive retrospectThe moaning, gloating then complainingIs so…
By day, it is thirty-five, a stain on shirt and skin.