Sticking plaster for the soul

 

Sometimes we need

a quick fix,

a sticking plaster

for the soul.

I’ve cut my fingernails

to the quick,

cut a hole

too close to the bone,

and now my soul

is beginning

to drip

to the ground

in pools.

Spluttering across

the stone

like the words

stuck in

my throat.

 

I got the wind

in my sails,

but I wasn’t

checking the maps,

now I’m sailing

off course

and there are rocks

in the mist.

I’m not sure

if the island exists

or if I’m just catching

the waves

of a lunar eclipse.

 

I need some hope.

Just a stray cloud

of happiness

sifting through

the gloom.

I need to see

a sunbeam smile

shining down upon me

and I’ll be happy.

 

See I’ve been digging

through the molten core

of my story,

and my fingers

have been burnt

too many times.

I’ve been digging

through sand

and now there

is just a hole

where my heart

was once found

and I’m falling,

yet there is

no place to land.