Swinging. Enchanting, rhythmic, focused.
Motion lulled the long forgotten limbs.
Numbing. Numbing. Please. Please.
Eyes insistent on glaring at the fidgeting.
I’m so sorry eyes, shoot daggers and judge;
I have no say in this.

What about my hands?
They are there too, Although...I don’t want them to be.
Forget. Forget. Please. Please.
Eyes have found them, no hiding it seems.
I’m so sorry eyes, tell me I’m stupid;
I have no say in this.

I want to leave them be.
It’s better than remembering them, feeling them.
Stop. Stop. Please. Please.
Eyes can’t see me here, in the confines of my skull.
Only room for one, you know?
He doesn’t.

Never the less.
I’ll swing

I’ll forget


I’ll carry on.
I’ll dig out the perfected photo album...and remember...
A time when, my legs were mine, my hands were mine,
My body. was mine.