I want to have a sook.
But I fear the implications.
I wake,
to the taste of lemon sunrise,
bright and bitter.
Sharp knives,
the nails of reality
intruding through the window,
to invade on a sanctuary, a home
in my mind.
A protective cover, my dreams, the night.
Every tingle,
the cold and the warm play as bed,
abandons me.
I am meant to rise
bipedal and stand
indestructible.
The smallest tower I've ever seen,
strong foundations but
supported with craft glue.
Certainty. Never did cement.
It cries,
the wild animal never to be cut down.
The voice
a determined roar numbs,
tranquilised by fear.
A creature of passion
to rip from the skin and cast it aside,
raise my hackles at the sky.
Soothed equally
by failure.
A day. For contradiction.
Collapsed,
without surrender. I kneel.
Unable to move
I am called first to die, but stubborn to live.
Whispers and lips
graze my ears as in pathetic comfort,
a whimpering head is cradled in ineffectual hands.
Neighbours impart greetings from the dawn,
generous nonsense I barely comprehend.
This is not, a
"Good morning."