Motion Sickness

Motion Sickness

Entrenched on a seesaw

she is sat at both ends

it’s a fight for survival

and these Selves are not friends

One moment she’s soaring

miles from blurred ground

this elation, it’s blissful

there’ll be no coming down


terminal speed streamlined into black hole

crushed to the floor

hazy vision, reaches

for the glistening stars

to find it’s a razor.

Too slow.

Forced to hover an inch above earth

choking on the dust caused at impact

rather than plant feet firmly at rock bottom

and grant this one grace – to stand in defeat.

You know I can remember

the exact dates

of every last time

I felt like myself?

I mark where they have scattered.

Motion sickness.

Get me off.

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