twenty

Wrecked by the raging ocean

The ship spills its contents like blood from its guts

There are toys, vinyls, guitars

and precious photographs, flowers and love letters

And all sinks or float apart

as an uncollected misery of confusion.

I stare from the deck of the sinking giant.

And while my everything hangs in the balance

I am distracted by that Prelude from Chopin,

interrupted, incomplete, and imperfect,

and yet brimming with the infinite energy of the unexpressed.

Silent as the sun,

you have burnt through my closed eyes.