Out of the painting, into the frame

There are alarms sounding, a hum only I can here.
Critical mass has been reached, lines breached.
Inside there is bruising, swelling and tears on my heart.
The moment of importance and the fleeting feeling of being safe.
Bruises always fade, tears always dry.
I find you there, among lemons and limes.
Which one am I?
The sour taste of the truth.
I pick you up, angel touch. You weigh nothing at all.
The dream to float away, to float above and look down at all this from space.
Lost In a dream.
But we all float, down here Ritchie we all do.
Down here everything floats, crashing into streams and rip tides.
Rivers and chalk paintings, threatening to clog my lungs and cover my soul.
Tumbling in to dance with penguins and smashing back out onto the concrete.
Back into the world, your fist, your love.
No need to ask if I’m okay, I never was.
But are you? You flounder like a fish. Struggling to breathe.
Here, take this cigarette. Fill your lungs and cough away the chalk.
It’s a jolly holiday after all.


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