I can feel it.
The world is moving away from me;
Spinning frantically.
Or is that me,
I can't tell anymore.
It has always been this way.
For months the tornado moving out,
And months following of reclusion,
Sweeping back into my heart.
But something has changed;
I am stuck.
I look down and my chest is a church window.
Through the multi-coloured fractuals,
It is turning.
Racing.
But something is holding it back.
There has been no event to my memory.
I am frozen mid-mutation.
There I am in full colour,
On bended knee,
Raising my arms up pleadingly,
And painted on kaleidoscope glass.
I am looking passively at this frame of me,
And something is missing.
I am stuck,
And she - I, am begging.
I am wondering why I call, but I know that I must.
I am frozen mid-mutation,
And it is turning.
Racing.
