Fish Bowl Brian

Through the glass bowl I see
a world without me.
Poisons drift their spores on fetid breath.
Flowers nod their death.
Even the sunbeams hurt
as other five year olds smile and suck their scarlet ice lollies.

One touch,
would be enough.
A stroke of allergen,
to swell me,
set my quivering flesh a tingle.
To kiss anything would be...
but I must look.
Through the glass bowl I see.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.