Borrowed and Blue

I wrote the forward to the diary of a mad woman,
foolishly finding her ramblings amusing,
her scratched stanzas were a mirror and a memoir,
and I kissed her on a cursed cruise ship,
that only seemed to stop at my port when I needed it most.

How can I live if I’ve nobody to die for?

I don’t ask for much.
I just want a little sugar in my bowl of chaos,
breaking up the day with wayward wanting,
kept awake by a hunger for a sleep so deep that it invites sorrow.

I told myself that I borrowed a mad woman’s pen,
but it has grown so close to my hand that it is hard to keep us apart.
She is in my skin,
and I cannot count on the promise of freedom any longer.

2 responses to “Borrowed and Blue”

  1. I borrowed the pen of a mad woman 😔


  2. Writing is art. You are an artist🥺💙


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