Under bedclothes,
under darkness,
under the weight
of all that once was,
I twist and turn
through folds
that blankets
can’t seem to find
freedom from.

Under. Weight.

Under water,
undercurrent,
under pressure
at the deep end
of denial,
I twist and turn
through waves
the sea
can’t seem to
ship back to shore.

Under. Pressure.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

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