A new day, bright, promising

I’m not yet out of the bedclothes

but our battle has begun.




You spin my legs awkwardly

and push my head into my hands

elbows on knees, submissive.




I dare to look toward the ceiling

pleading, begging, asking the question

that prefaces each day.




Today we’re not in love

it will be atrocious, unclean, brutal

as you recoil, unforgiving, blank.




I have told you many times,

it doesn’t have to be this way,

just help me, feed me, stroke me.




I want to tell your story,

show the world your beauty, so

at least meet me half-way.




It’s useless, I’m already damaged

my wounds are too great,

your canon too overwhelming.





© Graham Sherwood 11/2017

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Colin Hill

Tue 7th Nov 2017 08:26

excellent (ghost)writing Graham. I love the structure - is there a name for this? Forgive my ignorance if so. The italicised words are like rough steps hewn in the walls of some ghastly pit that we descend as we read. Or am I being overly dramatic? Thanks for posting. Col.

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