Whirlpool. A poem.

My head is spinning, lost in your days/daze. Your whirlpool pulls me down. I clamber for extant purchase, a drowning man on your razor edge, gormlessly clutching at eidetic straws as water chokes my lungs. Your centrifugal force, it wears my patience paper thin, teaches me mock restraint and leaves me listless upon a narrowingContinue reading “Whirlpool. A poem.”