I think the ache begins at my lower back,
The hurt that I got due to an accident
Or a muscle collapsing.
Things or two it taught me about distraction,
and wholesome love.
The pain shift to my left angular hand.
The palm unfocused, floating in the air
a pendulum song.
The knee doesn’t stop there,
It bends & cracks
with a peel of medieval ache,
The old vintage era of swollen eyes.
I see it all through the staircase of my dizzy body.
But what about the eyes?
Will they shut the spineless playlist of brown air
or soak in some more tears?
They refuse to talk. To sleep.
Eyes are the biggest culprit any era can produce.
They twitch, itch but won’t eat up your wound.
My anxiety is a shapeshifter,
until i put my fingers through the sheet of night.