Words Poem by Olivia O'Neil

Long gone are the hours where experience made sense,
Now I live upon a precipice between chaos and clarity,
Fiction and reality, often kneeling, reeling, running
Hurling towards disorder.
This is law. Order has been abandoned.
Words dance tantalisingly in front of my bleary world-shut eyes,
They will not be caught by my inept hand, they will not
Stand still and let me pin their wings into neat structured lines
of balance and harmony.
Even these few reluctant words rip, trip, fall fleetingly
Into a muddled heap
On this blank expectant page.
They drown in each other's unbearable disappointment.
Wasted twisted sharp bent black legs;
They curl up like the wiry limbs of dead spiders.