Half a white pearl, oyster from the sea
Never a whole, largely symbolic
Of the encompassing restlessness.
Inside me is an ocean
I bear the same weight, and lightness
It is the oddest of combinations
But I find a balance.
The lull of the pill inside me
On the crevices of my plague.
It colours its effect, I am emptied.
I lie quietly in my sheets
The dreams of blood fizzle in
And out, like breezes in a field.
The second is pink, to counter thoughts
It kills my suicide and makes me silly
Like a woman on shots of alcohol and men.
When I am not white, I am bright red.
It matches my skin in its clumsy cycle.
There are voids, depressions.
Filled, come furnaces.
Who was I before our matrimony?
I am a disaster.
The waves pull in and out.
I am the atmosphere.
Vows, “for better or worse.” We suffer both, either way; like atmosphere. – mh