My head won’t work but no one outwardly sees it
I need some seconds to process what’s been said
Feeling panic rise in my chest
My parched mouth ringing
In my amygdala.
‘I’m never going to swallow again’.
I need to ordain myself in a lanyard
To be understood.
All the colours have been taken
There are none left for us
I wish my mask would hide the heart
But I wear it on my chest.
Taken somewhere, please
Take me to the edge of some
Precipice. So, I can feel something
So, I can be somebody
Instead of all the nothingness
That I’ve become lost in
Mark Lyth 