The voice of my Left hand

Living through a kaleidoscope
of little coloured pills
God knows this hand
forms into its own face

Upon my world to gaze out
a landscape of words
I write with the left
when I should be right

thumbprints smudge paper
to never pass this stage
where the smoulder at my hearth
burns ink flow through my veins

Trapped in the phrase
of 'learning by degrees'
scrawl then, hand!
Go beyond my surface

My feelings cannot matter
from this, the left hand side
for what can this hand ever know
that the other could not hold?

So writes the left
With one eye open

Definitely fascinating Delta. The language seems really original. This is a good poem. :)