Stained glass windows

Stained glass windows.

The sunlight charging in like lovers running into each others arms after days of not seeing each other.

Painting the ground and walls with a myriad of colours.

The butterflies and bees are getting confused.

So am I.

Confused about my days blending together as one big horror that I can’t distinguish,

Stumbling across the pavement in a drunken bliss until the bottoms of my feet are blistering.

I am not walking alone, I never am.

My ghosts and thoughts walk beside me in two step,

like they’ve never done anything wrong.

My constant companions.

My mind in cahoots with my legs,

not telling me what is happening next.

The stained glass painting my soul exactly like the floor,

colours dancing against the backdrop of stone.

Am I stone?

The pulsing in my head and the top of my hips prove that I am very much alive.

Alive or very, very sick.