They make write notes on neatly
torn pieces of paper… Mantra’s
They make me read them over and over again because my mind needs to be fed
In order to sustain the heightened sense it seems to be in
Yet my consciousness is locked away in a little box they will not allow it be free
In angst I cry in frustration in being me
This is not the life I wish to lead
I cannot live without solid foundations
But the mantras tell everything will be ok
and who am I not to believe
In my state of heightened frustration
June Bolland Copyright 2015
Ink…
My thoughts flow from the ink of my pen
Only for their pain they write to be stemmed by the paper they are written on
I so want to write of love and happier times
and of memories of when my fingertips once explored all of you
But the ink that flows
now only stains my fingertips with its ink so black
Its colour has invaded my heart, my soul
As I know there cannot be anymore happy memories to write about
I have to instead write of closure and leave behind heartfelt sentiments and feelings I still wish to express
And so the words I now write are full of sadness and are numb
For knowing that no more words will express my love for you and the memories we once shared when my fingertips once explored all of you
Copyright June Bolland 2015