When you are sick, ill, mad
Whatever it is that stands
Between you and the world
There is a screen,
A filter, a glass
That obscures everything
And nothing at all
You see the world
In all it’s glory
Sharp and stark
Prickly and tearing
Soft and smudged
Watery and running
Nothing is ever the same again
Here is my part for Stream of Consciousness Saturday: Screen.
Breathing In 