Jan 29th (Waiting)

Woke in a different reality.
Sat for a while, wrapped in parka, watching the lights play with raindrops on the screen, moving in swathes of colour, speckled shoals sparkling across the day, an absent cast of diamonds.

I stare out through air, through glass, through the collected water. The headlights spraying towards us, the fractured shapes breaking into the morning, the blurring trees, encased from elements, called to go back outside.

Stuffed at the moment, don’t know whether to run or stay, to walk or hide. The light from my screen makes everything else darker around me, I tap in the glow but want greyscale. I have jobs that need doing. But I’m comfortably slumped, huddled on the settee, the spell check says ‘seethe’ but I don’t. It’s not that sort of feeling, it’s flatter, thinner, heavy grey not red.

How long am I staying here? Want to sleep, want to move, want to drink, want to stay, want to go, want to stop.
Need to write, need to read, need to move, need to drink but I’m warm and tired, wrapped in coat and tissues.

The clock still ticks pointlessly, the heating churns for no-one, the jobs wait, the trees broken vein the sky.
Winter calls me out there, I can’t be bothered.

I can’t be.

Still here.

Jan 25th (Cages)

It’s mine, the lack of time, the sense of disbelief, the thudding head, the ache under ribs, the slight pain in chest, the ball curled empty comfort under covers. The sense of pushing at my outside edge, the permanent running tape, the tension between consume and reduce, a sense of wanting to get sucked in fully, deeply, feel the metal box around me and a paradoxed comfort of slate bashing, that I can’t escape and wanting to feel the sides of it’s walls.

And then it flys out and up and I know what I need to do and this is what I have, all I have and it’s mine and I can shape it, run with it, do what I can, when I can, for as long as I can, until.

And I see it and I feel it and I see myself tapping through it, looking out of myself, the whole time, looking out of myself and I don’t want to lose that that sense of being in something, in me, in this shell and that’s how it is.

The spaces and the pieces, the gaps and matter, the madness that belongs to me, that’s mine, right here, right now and I almost step out of it for a fragment of time, then snap back hard and flat.

This tension at the soul, this bizarre sense of almost being here.

Snow hasn’t quite melted, cold earth showing through now, be easier to walk on for a while.