by Olivia Burgess
Poetry is my pill of youth, my vigour
demanding to live long in the nethers of daylight
slowly, slowly trifling
a madman with no man, self set to sea on a sail
the only connection with my childhood is now through metaphor
a daughter of despair.
At night I sleep unsharpened
I dream of peace, and waters icy, skin, chilled, silent, mind
the house keeps swathed sleeping in night blindness
We stood there taking pictures of the moon, and I surrendered
your eyes working their kind water
to snack on half bitten dead purple stars
is that a star or a question mark ? a plane heading south for winter?
something i’d never thought a man would ever know to remember
but now, there are only miles and miles of minutes
now, only, the dawn
Olivia Burgess is a tired student reading English at King's College London. When she's not writing poetry that praises the wonderful intricacies of humanity or trying to understand the greater realisations of her existence she enjoys cooking up a storm, reading her tarot and staring at the night sky, for which she is very grateful. She hopes you take care of yourself today.