Dawn chorus

Good days and bad days and fucking endless nights of I don’t even know what.

I’m the original flake; up and down and lost in the middle, scratching my head and wondering and wandering.

Yes and no and I’d love to I can’t make it lets do this again another time never.

Is this real or is it going to end?

Which bits are the real bits and how many more times will I have to read this chapter before I actually read it rather than just let my eyes flit across the pages like my mind flits across thoughts?

Feeling like its all my fault and it’s all me me me and then hating myself for being so selfish. Feeling like I felt when I was five and on the receiving end of “I’m not angry I’m just very, very disappointed in you”.

Too scared to let go.

The want to open the door onto the street and pull my coat around my face and walk and walk until I find something to replace everything. Another life or a gateway to another way or another place to be.

Sitting in bed at 3am while the whole house is dark and quiet and wanting, wanting so, so much just to feel.

Staying awake because I’m so wired that I have no choice and because if I do then maybe I can stop the morning from coming.

Breathing though panic or nothing or hurt or thoughts, waiting to see if it will end or if this is actually the time where it all explodes in my face.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

I can’t move forward so there’s only backwards left to go. Backwards or sideways or here forever and ever until I’m eighty something and shrinking back into the nothingness that I came from, asking myself what the fuck I was playing at for all those wasted years.

So many words that I want to say but that I can’t because I care more about upsetting other people than I do about the slow burn of pain inside my gut from keeping it all in.

The fucked up wish that there was something wrong that could be cut out or cut off or drugged to death so that it would all be gone and I would be okay.

Wondering who I would be if I could push a button and have it all taken away. I am not it and it is not me and left is right and right is left.

Waiting for the moment that my bones and my muscles and my being melt into an embrace that will make everything even just a little bit okay. Just for a while.

Writing bollocks and drinking tea and staring into the darkness of the almost dawn, trying to find answers that I know aren’t there.