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11/14/2015 5:58:11 AM

Terry Robinson
Posts: 49

I feel the sweat of a race not run
and hold the clench of a stomach churned,
as I crumble and fall, using artifice to
fool this world of my consummate ease

This daily pulse has blood flow restricted,
like the sparrow evading the falcons dance.
And I, in the third person try so hard
to solicit speech from this frozen mouth

My time has come to stand upon this stage
and fill the pledge to tickets bought.
And to earn my daily crust, whilst hoping
the ink of fear does not write upon my face

And by the end of day to feel
like an egg dashed against a wall,
breaking into a thousand ruined nerves,
killing all the life within this rain - soaked
hesitant voice

To begin this all again tomorrow.
This troubled journey of wornboards
and featureless landscapes trapped by
a scream hidden in fog

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