Geese Overhead

I’ve recently become painfully aware of patterns I need to destroy. Upon this realisation, I am vulnerable. I hate that. Even as my muscles twist into firmer roots, I’m dwelling in absences between the letters. Sidestepping silences in the peace. I’ve lost my logical mind to other neglected pieces. I swapped suffocation for drowning. The dry field of broken branches and trampled flowers is filling up with rain. A swamp will be made of this ill witch of ill wishes. It’s soul-shattering to conside...