Fog

My timeline is blurry
it sits on my shoulder like
a rescue parrot, gaping,
screeching between one
year and another. Surprise!

It cannot leave; it doesn't want
to let my fingers find its silky
feathers and stroke them
and pamper and pet until
I make tonight bearable

The room is leaving me
kidnapped by the moonlight
the walls are escaping, frantically
grasping at the clouds, oh, how
full of colours they are, full of life!

If only they could take me
with them… I'd smile more
than ever. But my timeline
is gone, my head is too heavy

And the paper in my hands –
I think it's shaking.
I hear a voice
and it keeps asking

why

Fog

It sounds a bit like
a girl I used to know
or maybe
it's not even remotely
familiar