Some weeks there are no words, no tears –
It’s not my life, I detach to keep going.
Other weeks they just keep coming –
tears, tears, words and more tears
I sob and howl at the likely lost years,
The futileness of it all,
I curl up in a warm cosy ball,
I hide under the blankets –
I try to block out you all,
I give in to the mets’
I go to ground and hide,
Sometimes I need to prorogue this ride.
10th September 2019