Blinking out

I went from red room to blue room, weak, wild,
and the only thing that followed me were the eyes.

When I struggled in scarlet, when I pushed until
the walls wobbled, and I staggered in a lost body,

listening to sad old songs and counting pounds,
down, down, but still in the air, you were warmth

there, irises brown and tired, you said, get up, child,
then down; come and join us, bright on the ground.

When I found the other stairs, pulled myself to blue,
I could stop running, pedalling, rowing, starving.

I looked into eyes of cyan, eyes that knew sea, fire,
told me, be happy, kid. It will all be fine – just live.

And downstairs, this time, it all seemed like a film,
and I was outside, but I was me, and the music now

was a guitar that would one day climb up into my arms
like my baby would, and I sat and heard out the song

before creeping away to my room of cream loneliness
and mapping out a new route to where I could get

when all eyes closed and only my own wit would lift
me through, chasing the truths I borrowed from you.