Unravel

Close to midnight my mind is busy, too busy. Tumbling and turning. Writhing around. A nest of thoughts tangled, tugging.

Time to pause.

I know I should pause.

But the tug is there. The mess is waiting. Pulling at my mind.

I can’t sleep. I still can’t sleep.

I go to the garden, sit on the swing. A chill catches me. I swing into the night. Reach for constellations, patterns I know well.

I swing, legs not touching the floor. Reaching for the stars. Searching for something. Not ready to land.

If I land. I fall. Trip up on my own thoughts. They wrap me up, pull me down. Too much. Tonight. I swing. In, out, up, down. I push myself harder, reach higher. Tears roll down my face. My fractured heart aches.

The stars fade. The sun breaks. Another tired day.

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20th March

I think of you in the sunlight. Spring breaks. Tears fall. I weep as another year passes. Another day goes by. The day mild, the air warm. My heart still cold, without you.

Valentine’s Morning

I scrape charred bread. The sound grates. Crumbs fall in the bin. Lost. I spread raspberry jam on the remains of my burnt toast. I bite. Chew the mistakes around. Smile when the sweet raspberry hits. Slowly swallow. Dry crumbs scratch my throat. I cough. Hurt. Grimace as I keep on eating. The cover up wasn’t worth it.

Fine

I drop a pencil, hear it crack. Pick it up. Listen to the core. Graphite snapped. Invisible. Inside. I press on it, write a sentence. Sketch a drawing, shade the grey. Use it. Broken. I know it’s done. Inside it’s shattered. A rattle, a clatter. Pieces fallen. Outside it’s fine.

Comfort

I long to paint the morning sky, cushion clouds in clusters of pink and blue. I think of what I’d use, the shapes I could make, the tones I could create. Just to keep this close to me. To feel this again.

Bottom of the Glass

Ice clinks. I drink one last time. Shivers run through me. Cold, a tear falls. All over. It’s done.

The Day Ends Too Soon

Frozen leaves glisten,
ice crackles on the pavement
I walk home alone

Kitchen Floor

Blood splattered, a Jackson Pollock on the floor. Glass glistens, like fallen tears. I kneel on the cold canvas, hands busy. Picking, placing, moving. I tidy. A knock on the door.

An ache that never dulls

A song. A feeling. The weather. The trees. The city moving. I stay still. Frozen by memories of you.

Crushed

I’m a conker, fallen
shell cracked, and weak
vulnerable I’m lost
crushed under the city
life weighs me down.