Stamping on my chest.
Devils claws sink into my shoulder.
Pushing me down
And sitting in my view.
Whispering ‘You are just another small time muse’
Meaningful gazes ask if I’m fine
Glances back scream ‘I’m fucked.’
I show a small apologetic smile
One that let’s you know I don’t need you.
That it will be fine.
It will be OK.
I am just someone who cries in the street on Thursday.