Seething anger twisting, twisted, twister

of half believed half truths heard somewhere.

Dreamt maybe? Maybe seen on a homepage,

so it must be true, right? You wouldn’t lie.

Searching, grasping, grasped, gasping,

the surface still too far above.

A scream, primal, rising, surfacing,

caught writhing, strangled at birth.

Carry on, the razors edge sharp and unforgiving,

balance, neither side enticing, centred.

Sharp focus dulled decisions,

others whispering which way to jump.



Stephen Allen

Author Stephen Allen

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