by David Hanlon
What is there to say about rickety
bones that isn’t rickety?
Not much when my nervous
system is shot and my tongue is muted
by panic so thunderous
I fight
against
the gulping
of half-formed vowels,
I breathe
in five times faster,
and if each breath taken in is a new
intake of life,
I’m clamouring to consume all of it,
instantaneously,
because anything less
than this
is impossible to face,
to be
a breath closer
to it.
David Hanlon is from Cardiff, Wales, and currently living in Bristol, England. He is training part-time as a counsellor/therapist. You can find his work online in Dirty Paws Poetry Review, Into The Void, Impossible Archetype, Boston Accent Lit, Riggwelter Press & The Rising Phoenix Review, among others. (And don’t miss his poem Facing the other way. — Elephants Never)
The Sunday Solace series focuses on mental health and medication. We hope to provide a judgment-free space to explore and discuss our issues in a creative manner.