14 May 2009



if I sought to feel physically ill
as proof of guilt then this day
isn’t wasted, remorse has only
one shade – an agonised grey

you, the interlocutor, is silent
the voices shouting in my head
raise doubt about wisdom of
listening for sanities’ sake

it’s more than the fracture of you
and me; perhaps we never were
in synchronicity as much as we
are now in these estranged needs

for you it was space to breathe
for me it was the madness of
dependency too sweet to take
too precious to leave be
© 4 February 2009, I. D. Carswell