armour thyroid

four hands
all mine
nothing attached to the end of your arms

I'm holding sickness in my heart,
dragging disharmony like a cart

we were once...twice our potential
in half we were sliced by what was essential,
to our very existence
now that it has ceased
I must find a way to land on my feet

another blister on my sole
I cut myself with a blade of grass,
in the barn
my mind is twisted like a yarn

I asked for friendship,
and you spit on my extended arm
damage done,
yet I intended no harm

four hands
all mine
nothing attached to the end,
of your arm
Written by IMAGO (Viwe Lugongolo)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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