Beyond This Place

The rain is a storm of caged birds,

the clipped wings of a body

stripped of its inner sanctum.

The muscle torn and stretched,

back to front. The lungs

with their waves of fear,

the heart galloping.

This ringing, rushing in my head.

My blood holding the secret

to exhaustion. A battle

I glimpse in the early hours

when the wind whips through

my ribs and I am clinging

to the mast. A shredded flag,

defiant fluttering in my bones.

I am not the captain of this vessel,

I am a stowaway hidden

in the hold of sickness.

But I see my face reflected

in fresh water and my eyes

are scratched glass,

the patterns flying free.

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