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Chained
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I Walk Naked Into a Cloud
She used to colour her words
with vulgarities. They defined
her sense of place in a world
she could not conform herself to.
She would talk to me about
coming and going, reflecting her
confusion about the role she
was compelled to portray.
I often thought she was an
emotional basketcase, a falling
distance that could not be
surmised in the usual way.
What she called "individuality",
I called a sense of panic.
From situation to situation she
fled from guidelines of uniformity.
She built a huge wall of metal
that kept her isolated inside herself.
Lashing out like a garden hose at
the injustices of her betrayal.
Sometimes I would try and slid
inside her prison walls.
It was always a waste of time,
as she never opened her soul.
When she died, I was surprised
at how many attended the funeral.
