Today the bedroom. Tomorrow the cerebellum.

As a child,
My parents bought me things I didn't really need

My eyes could be sold for a crumpled five pound note
Serenely wrapped up in an old man's hand

Gliding into mine
In the corridor of the most hellish of hospitals

I ascended and found a boy dressed in orange
With a parachute for a soul
In the waiting room

Waiting

I grew up
Crying in the spare room
My sisters never told me why

I think it's because, I couldn't breathe underwater.