My arms are like a skeleton’s arms

My legs are thin metal, the width of a key

My mind remains locked, my body a block

A sapling that never grew into a tree

A ribcage of plastic, a light unfantastic

Eyes fading daily with useless use, limbs loose

But locked still, jaw clenched, a windmill

Turning inside my brain, picturing the noose

Or fantasising with no joy or current plan

An image imprinted, enlarged, entangled

A body found in a room, cheerful gloom

Lights off – no burial, forever dangled.



© Copyright David Marriott  all rights reserved­.