Black Nest

A nest lies behind my eyes

Hatching little black birds

That criss-cross over

All the things I see.

Cutting through the light parts

Of life, a tiny piercing knife

Gouging a hole, crude

Like oil, in my reality.

Some days, the birds explode

In a shower of feathers

Creeping from the corners

Dulling the best of my endeavours

And in the mirror, my eyes are black

Who I am is never who I wish to be

A drowning mind, forgetting how to smile

Sinking in the cold part of the sea.

© Copyright David Marriott  all rights reserved­.