Broken Brain
Reflected light is shimmering here,
finding me floundering in my fluff,
gazing at this shattered glass
as I dance, dance away, away.
I cut my bare toes -
sixty steps to the minute,
those sixty seconds, sixty seconds:
click-click, tick-tock, bop-bop.
Your shine dims like a dull, dull dime
in my battered brain, seeing the blood
on my toes, as they dance, prance
on the shattered shimmering glass.
A battered brain is shapeless stuff
that lets me flounder in my fluff.
The shattered brain sees shattered glass.
They'll take this tumour away.
Will humour return, humanity remain,
once I've danced, pranced
for those surgical folk in masks
who'll take knives to my brain?
(6/7 Feb 2023)
Copyright © Andrew John | Year Posted 2023
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