there are days when the world turns grey around her
enfolding her in an embrace that has no touch
until there is nothing left but the knot in her throat
the weight in her gut
the pressure behind her eyes that burns.
there are days when she watches from above
unable to reach the colours inside her;
and there are days when she is nothing but feelings
knotted up into a ball that she tries,
to untangle from one another.
there are days when she stands on the edge
of a race
coiled like a spring, ready to charge –
longing to turn and streak across the marked lanes
not caring where she runs
so long as it is away, away from here, anywhere else.