This is probably the only poem I’ll ever write – it’s not a medium I’m comfortable in. I only started writing it in a moment of sheer fury and impotence – I’ve been laid up a lot recently, housebound and frustrated. I’ll hopefully have some new stories out soon.
Some days, I am rage.
It eats into me, poisoning every word.
Polluting every friendship.
Blackening the skies outside.
Some days, I am blankness.
Some days, I am crying.
My soul screams relentlessly.
Tears fall unhindered. Heartfelt sobs wrack.
Eyes swollen, soggy tissues abound.
Some days, I am fear.
Hiding from pain.
Hiding from people. Hiding from paperwork.
Fleeing from the inevitable failure. From my disappointing self.
Some days, I am trying.
The jaws of pain envelope me.
I fight on. Though not for long.
The drugs aren’t that good.
Some days, I am exhausted.
Tired of trying. Tired of failing.
Tired of starting from scratch.
I am lost. There must be more to life than this?
Many days, I am all of the above.
Desperately holding it together.
A brittle exterior.
Often punctured carelessly by others.
Some days, I function.
I can smile.
I laugh, though rustily.
Life could be worse.