Stasis

The world spinning like a hurricane
It’s quiet in the centre

I can feel its destruction all around

I’d like to get to the other side
…to get to you

I know the world will tear me apart
Before I even get to
Touch your skin

Before I get to tell you…

The storm whisks my unsure words away

It is a cacophony
Of deafening silence
Where anything meaningful
Will be lost forever

Do not speak

Else you lose the thing
You wished
To grasp

Today is not the day
Not the week
Not the time

When this is all over
Headless bodies will run accross
The ruins of the old world
Knowing the farther they get
The more havoc they wreak

And they would do it all for a shred of light
A piece of hope
A touch of skin

Before we are all plunged
Into the darkness
Again

 

Looking for air

Before the plan had finished being formulated in my mind I’d taken my headphones and a bag, I was reaching for a mask when my mother asked where I was going. I jumped, and said “to the shops”, it wasn’t a lie, so far that was all I’d planned.
I left and I knew it wasn’t supposed to be warm but my body was burning and the outside air was barely helping.
At the shops I looked at the beer, wondering if I wouldn’t be better drunk. I decided against it as I already felt like I’d drunk two bottles, I looked without seeing. I could feel, far away, a certain anger and irritation. I took a can of cherry coke, that I’d asked my Mum to buy but, like most other things I said, it had been discarded. I supposed I deserved it.


I passed my street and kept going into the forest. I sat at a bench, lulled by my music. I drank my can, it had a bitter taste, it felt metallic, like warm blood. I wished I could spend my life outside. I missed the mountains and the fresh air. I was tired of spending my days wasting away inside. I was losing touch with reality. And I didn’t know what to do about it. The only thing that could anchor me at all was music. My friends were so far away and uncommunicative. I didn’t blame them, I was no better.


I let the music take over my mind. I started to walk home.


I stopped on a dead tree. I read messages from a conversation people were having without me. I felt like an outsider watching the world go by.


I don’t know where this is going but I’m afraid I can’t stop it. There’s nothing left to do but go home anyway.




I’ll get up in a minute.

 

Haunted

I’m back home,
Where the walls are painted,
The heating works,
And nothing smells of cigarettes.

Yet despite all that
I wish I was still in that old, cold house,
Wrapped up in your arms
With your hand going through my hair.

I’d felt warmth in my heart
That no amount of freezing tiles
Could ever put out.

 

Unreal

Today everything was more… well, I don’t know how to describe it, it was just… more.

I got out of bed and I couldn’t see a thing. I felt my way to the wall and fished the right clothes out of the small pile that’s been building up. I could almost feel the heavy wet fabric and the water streaming down from my dry clothes, and hear the waves from an ocean too far away. Almost, because if I really had really felt any of those things that would be crazy right?

I walked out of my apartment, trying to turn on my headphones and connect them to my phone. I’ve taken the habit of never going out alone without music or something to watch. So I put on some music and walked out. The Sun blinded me and I squinted my way to the metro, the slight cold wind blowing away the colours and lines around me so that everything was grey.  Then the metro, as it came I could hear its howl even through my sound barrier. It was like a banshee, I could almost see it accompanying the metro as it rattled towards me, crying out at all those who would jump before it, weeping for those who died long ago and whose shells, locked in motion, carry out meaningless actions: go to work, work, go home. Thinking of those who lie dormant in their shells, run by an autopilot, ready to wake up once they have enough of what they need to start living. I sat down and watched the world go by.

Once at work in front of my screen the words danced and made no sense, I got up to clear my head and I could feel the floor calling to me, waiting for me to slip up, pulling me down like a magnet. I could feel a faint buzzing in my head, as if I were a computer overheating and the fans couldn’t keep up. I sat back down and closed my eyes. I felt I was at the bottom of the ocean, below even the water, where all that was left was a deafening pressure. I opened my eyes and forced the light in front of me to make sense. I forced my hands to move to get the job done. I promised them we would rest when we got home. As if I had anything else to do there.

I came outside and it was raining a little. I could see the water crawl up out of the gutters, creating rivers, growing to engulf the cigarette stumps on the road, making the cars look like boats and suddenly the whole city was underwater. People were swimming away on their usual paths, oblivious to the transformation. I swam to the metro and took the train home. I was one minute away from my door when I realised I had no idea what had happened since I’d entered the metro and I had no recollection of getting out of it.

And just like that I was home. I sat on my bed and fell through the mattress, discovering the world of darkness where I spent so much time alone. And I waited for time to stop. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

I found this old note and decided to finish it. It was originally called “Spilt” though I can’t remember why

 

Sea

Branches with silver leaves

Swaying gently in the breeze
Behind it a blue morning sky, 
Announcing the day to come.
The smell of the sea stings a little, 
The sounds of waves crashing in the distance
Remind you of where you are.

And you hear something new,
A guitar, not far,
Voices singing with that morning dissonance,
Inviting heads to turn,
People to come out of tents,
Other morning voices to join.

For a moment,
Despite how
Tired,
Sunburned,
Mosquito-bitten,
Or dirty
You might feel,
It feels like you’ve found a patch of heaven on earth
In this moment everything is fine.
You start humming along to the song,
Slowly getting up from the place you slept,
And you feel like you’ve been here all your life.
You know these strangers by name,
Somehow in the night they became family,
Uncomplicated and open,
And you’re finally home.

 

Trains

Heart beating hollow

Walking between the tracks,

One step too far sideways

Could mean the end,

Or it could lead to freedom,

 

At least until

The train comes.

If it comes.

There might be freedom ahead

But it seems too far,

Uncertain.

Fear keeps your feet

In between the lines,

And your heart dies

With every step you take

There.

 

Is it worth it?

 

Stuck

It’s always when I most need to talk to people
When I most need human contact
That my words fail me

It’s like when my anxiety won’t let me go outside
I can get up and get ready and do anything I want
As long as I’m not doing it to go outside
And as soon as I start trying to leave my body stops responding
I can’t move
I can barely breathe
It’s like my whole being is screaming to not move
So all I can do is stay inside
Because as soon as I stop trying to leave my body relaxes
And I can take back control

Should I just accept that I can’t talk to anyone?
But I need to not be alone
I don’t know what to do
I don’t know how to talk about it
So I just run out of things to say

“They don’t want to talk to you anyway,
you’re just wasting their time.”

They don’t waste my time
There’s no way I’m the only compassionate idiot out there

“No of course you’re not special,
People care about others,
Their best friends,
Their family,
Their lovers.
They don’t care about you.
They barely think about you.”

Well I know that’s not true
I have at least two friends who are about as compassionate as me

“But they already have other problems to worry about.
They can’t worry about you,
You won’t even tell them what’s wrong.”

How can I?
like you said they already have their own problems
I don’t want to add to that

“So you admit it then,
How little you matter.”

I’ve rarely not admitted it
And even when I didn’t
It was only because my self-esteem was getting dangerously low
But if I don’t matter
Then neither do you

“Yet you still listen to me,
Because even I matter more than you do.”

No
That’s not true
I can ignore you
Sometimes I barely hear you
You’re just a poison in my mind
I don’t have to listen to you

“But can you prove me wrong?”

I…
Yes
Yes I can
I’m not alone
I’ll show you

“We’ll see how it goes…
Maybe next time you won’t be so sure.”

 

Alone

I’m fucking tired
It hurts…

“What hurts?”

Everything…

“Why?”

I don’t know
I wish I did
Maybe I could make it stop

“Maybe this is all your fault,
Maybe this is why they leave,
You’re too bothersome.
So you end up alone.”

Maybe
But I know I’m not alone
I need to keep fighting
My friends need my help
I can still be useful

“Why can’t your friends help you?”

They can
Sometimes
But right now they have problems of their own
So I have to deal with this on my own
It’s ok really

“‘Cause you know if you put yourself first they’ll leave.”

 

Moving On

“As you all know,”
Said the big ones
“They’re selling the house,
And we’re making a list,
Of things you might want to keep.”
We looked at each other,
Reluctantly starting;

We wanted
The thick wooden beams
We would climb up on
And the beds underneath them
That we’d jump onto.

We wanted
The trees in the field
That would catch our footballs and rugby and tennis and golf balls,
And the big oak with the rope we’d swing on.

We wanted
The big old trampoline in the garden,
The basketball post and the swimming pool,
And the cherry tree.

We wanted
The big room
That found a new life when 16 cousins
Spent the night talking and hushing each other
On mattresses on its floor.

We wanted
The space under the stairs
Where we’d hide
And grab unwary feet.

We wanted
The big plastic boot
We’d stand in when were small enough
Or wear and try to walk with.

We wanted
The plastic stools and broken guitars
We’d do our private concerts with,
Singing at deodorants next to a pillow fight.

We wanted
The inn we’d created in the barn
With an old table and some crates,
And a few empty bottles to drink out of.

We wanted the grass,
The sun and the rain and the mud,
The rainbows and all the memories we’d created
Year after year.

We wanted the whole house
With its field and its garden and the barn.

We looked at each other,
The big and the small
And the in-betweens,
And we knew we wanted those things
Precisely because they were things
That you could never take away from this place.
They were what made it home,
And no-one would see it like we did until they’d grown up in it,
Felt the rain and the mud,
The sun and the dust,
The spiders and the flies,
The scolding because of dirty shirts
And sleepless nights.

…………………………………………………itsbeensolong……………………

I found this when I was looking through my notes and I just realised I never published it so here it is ^^

According to my notes I wrote (or at least last modified) this poem in march 2016 so two years ago

 

Snippets of Peace

When I’m in a bad place I’ll take any sensory overload I can control. I’ll listen to music loud enough to block out the outside and most of my thoughts. I’ll dive into a film or an episode.

It was raining tonight. As I was waiting for the train I stood outside the station. The train that would take me away from my home and to the house I was trying to escape. I just stood outside, face up towards the rain. It wasn’t a storm, it barely rains hard here, it’s usually no more than a long drizzle but this was a little stronger. I stood in the darkness, cars and people would pass and look at me. Did they think I was high or crazy or suicidal? Perhaps a combination of those. I pushed them away from my mind, I knew they wouldn’t recognise me even if they saw me again. One thing I’ve learned is that people don’t care about those they don’t know, most people forget the faces they see instantly.

I was standing face up, eyes closed in the rain feeling it crash softly against my skin. It felt like a thousand small pokes, each one confirming the same thing: I was still alive. It wasn’t invasive or violent, it was kind of just… there. And it felt good after having felt untouchable for so long. It was a small moment of peace in the middle of all this turmoil. A space where I could breathe without feeling crushed by whatever the world throws at me. I could feel the solid ground at my feet. For a few seconds at a time I felt completely free and I didn’t care who stared, who pushed me down, who made me feel trapped, unwanted, useless, or invisible. I was myself. And I was free.