Poetry

Mad Head

My head’s broken.

On certain days my head feels

as fragmented as a puzzle strewn

across a table top-

corners dispersed and all meaning lost.

I know there is a complete

picture, lurking 

somewhere within that pile of pieces;

but god what a mess!

What time and attention it will

take to bring that picture

back into the light!

Some days it just seems easier to

put up with the mess,

put up with the chaotic pile of

strangely shaped bits

which make up my

mind.

My head is a puzzle- it

doesn’t make sense;

you can’t see its picture 

unless it’s put together 

properly.

My eyes strain and

My fingers clutch, the pile

of pieces smoulders gently 

as i try to make sense of it;

as i doggedly try 

to reassemble it.
 

 

 

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