Have I grown into my skin
Or have I outgrown what I was, once?
Please contact my next of kin,
There may not be another chance.
No, this is not a cry for help –
At least, I do not think it so.
Festering I am not. Neither do I ‘glow’.
This is the hand which I was dealt.
Where our fault lines meet :
I pray we chose the right pages to skim,
I pray my ruptures remain thin,
I pray you don’t fall,
I pray you don’t look down at all.
Because there is nothing of worth, down below,
Save for the river in which my memories flow.
Hold on tight or I hope you can, swim.
I’ve run out of life
vests – there wasn’t even one left for me.