dinner for breakfast

in my dream I drive myself to hospital. in the moment it makes sense and this is where I'm meant to be. the ladies at reception smile and say it's good to see me, checking in like a hotel for getting better. the nurses still know my name and though they're warm as I remember I can sense their shock at my return. they weren't expecting me and I quickly start to wonder if I'm meant to be there.

through the doors I see the ward has changed. the hall is darker now: high ceilings lowered, windows smaller than before. the noise that underscored our every meal is lesser too. what was once a battlefield of broken minds and argument reads more now as a library. a solemn cloud of silence washes over empty couches, chairs, tables and abandoned games of cards and chess. tortured ghosts and soldiers limp around the furniture, eyes fixed ahead in medicated daze. the space feels strange without the shouting, the speaker-phone calls, the worship music spilling from the rage room. all I hear is quiet muttering and the gentle scrape of sneakers on the vinyl.

a new nurse shows me to a room without a bed. she tells me I'm welcome but the psych doesn't have time to see me. I try but have no luck remembering why I've returned. no time passes and a bell rings, calling me to breakfast. passing through the dining hall the nurse leads me to a smaller, darker room, lit only by tall candles and light recycled from the passageway passing through the door. the table is longer than before, with more seats and more consumers.

I take my place between a friend from last time and a child who can't stop shaking at the site of toast. my friend places a hand on her shoulder as she starts to cry. I ask if she'd prefer corn flakes. she nods, looking up towards a nurse who shakes her head and says we're out of cereal. the stop clock watches from the head of the table. looking down at my plate I laugh at my meal. I've been served dinner for breakfast.

pretending to sleep

I carry the distance between us like an anchor on my shoulders. traversing streets we've crossed together I commit to being outside of my head with other people, making my way to the park. friends share food and drinks and cigarettes. some ask about my arms. some ask about you. there is laughter and tangible joy in different shades and sounds. a chance to forget myself for a while.

but even here I can't forget you. worry persists like a black hole in my stomach, leaving me far from fit for care and conversation. and so, on someone's pillows on the grass, I rest my head and close my eyes. the afternoon sun sulks as I pretend to sleep, cradling myself in broken wings. in the dark I listen to and distract myself with other people without being there at all. I let their conversations fight for my attention, two tides stretching me out of too familiar shores of my self doubt and loathing. they talk about their dreams and medication and my furrowed brows. somebody kisses my forehead goodbye.

when I choose to wake the sky has changed. I can see half of the moon under the clouds. the sun is being swallowed by the pretty terrace houses. a beautiful goodbye before the night. even while you let the space between extend I hope you get to see it too.

fingertips

I want to move

I want to run like water

but you linger

the memory of a feeling

hope or dread

a shadow on the wall cast by your absence

you sleep

I wait

and my heart is at the mercy of your fingertips.

under the veneer

there's no hiding when the doctor takes my weights. I can choose to turn my back and carry on oblivious. this doesn't change the facts of who I am and where I'm at.

there's no hiding when the needle takes my blood. the pathologist is friendly and I can entertain her questions about the weather and my lunch. she clocks off in twenty minutes and can't wait to get home for hers. the charade is harmless and holds no sway on whatever the machine will say.

there's no hiding when the sky falls. what time is there for inhibitions when the world is ending? I keep up my appearances through gritted teeth. they start to slip in the dark. are you hanging onto yours? I've been hiding for a while. it feels much safer in my armour. but there's no changing who and how I am under the veneer.

there is a bird at your window. he can't help that he cares.

vessel

and with a breath

earth opens

the Titanic sinks in my stomach

I become a black hole

and nothing else

taking and taking

patterns in repeat into tomorrow

I will cry and dry my eyes again

and when I sleep I leave a body vacant for the night

I am a vessel for the things that happen and the ways they make me feel

they enjoy the shade of being hidden

and escape

I am left to take up space

exposed

unconcealed

with every layer lost

pulsating heart and other vital organs hanging on the walls

in glass cases and your afterthoughts 

words are not enough

come see and believe

and so the old ghosts haunt the gallery to laugh and stare and take their photos

‘do you remember when…’

knowing the display

a joke awaiting punchlines like a sentence still withheld

what you wanted (blood on canvas)

assorted hopes and tricks that used to work

deconstructed for what?

echoes of affection

I remember

when what we said was what we meant

and you use words like strings to pull me with or without knowing

does it matter if you mean it if it works?

ask me anything

my dietitian asks me to think about my bones. he approaches every problem with a willingness to laugh I find refreshing. the scans remind me I am weaker than I should be. there are things I can be doing to rebuild and restore, I just need his help to make a plan.

my friends ask me to think about my boundaries. they listen to my woes and ask me how I'm feeling. my inability to answer only warrants more questions. their faith in my worth endures another day of ego death. I thank whichever of my past selves did the work to earn this love.

my phone asks me to care. I read the headlines to find my pulse. it feels perverted and I do little with the feelings. there is another world in which I do more. I wish I had coordinates.

my heart asks me to listen. I can't close my eyes without seeing the glow of your name etched somewhere in the dark. you're excited to see me tomorrow. I'm very happy you're home.

how to talk

a cigarette and a pacifier on the tiles of the public bathroom floor

my brother tries to teach me how to talk about my feelings

I am silenced by the labour of my own imagination.

it is easier to listen and watch than to act and speak, though I can only bite this tongue so much. if I care and I do then I owe a little more. you don't live in this skull. you haven't seen the writing on the ceiling. would you come in and take a look?