interlude 8

i write about delicacy and

i write about breath.

i write more than

i ever have.

my fingers

intertwine with shadows.

i lay on my bed in silence,

skin warm

and i tickle

the moon beams

laying beside me on my bed.

finding myself

in the creases of

my bedsheets,

in the creases

of the paper i fold.

creating myself

in the nails i bang

into my wall

and the ceiling i struggle to reach.

finding breath,

finding balance,

finding centre within

mySelf.