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  • Writer's pictureJosephine Peacock

Walking on Eggshells

Updated: May 6

















I can hear it, yes approaching near

Wither to flee from here?

Off the path, away, away,

Yet, nowhere to escape today.

In stillness held, a breathless flicker,

Amidst a pause so tensely thick

Even the silent furniture complies,

Rooted deep, no shift, no lies.

Knots drawn tight, the ache profound,

Within, a tempest swirls around,

Trembling, hidden deep inside,

Begging not to be espied.

Fingers pale, grip tightened fast,

Strive to seem normal, make it last,

Forge a smile, steady sure,

Hide the storm, endure, endure.

Lies will come, though reason's thin,

Why fabricate the state I'm in?

Asked of my day, what's there to probe,

Just shadows dressed in daylight's robe.

Tiptoeing on a fragile crust,

With every step, a brittle bust,

Swept aside, into the void,

Awaiting time, to be redeployed.


Once more to breathe, to feel, to be,

When from this pressing dread I'm free.



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