smarties

in an unfamiliar room I spill my medication on the floor. I hear the pills bounce across the tiles and roll under foreign furniture. my movements have fallen out of rhythm with the thoughts that charge them and the body is slow to respond. when I reach for the tablets under the table and chairs I can only find smarties. I shake my head and wonder where I am. my friend on the couch asks if I need a hand. within seconds he offers up the chocolates from the floor. I rub my eyes and nothing changes: the tablets are coloured chocolates and he’s telling me to take them. he asks if I need water to help swallow and I know he isn’t joking: he sees pills where I see sweets and the difference makes no difference.

when I wake I fight the empty hours with more sleep than I had planned. I run later in the morning and resent the choice and heat that weighs me hopeless for the months to come. in the shower I wash my hair and feel the familiar sting of shampoo in my eyes. I remember the feeling from baths as a child when there was nothing worse to cry about.

I make time to write and wring myself hopeless and dry to nothing I would want to read. disappointment harbours over every choice and I can only ever pray for a break from myself. at the rally I curse every second wasted on myself and the life I spoil with hate and fear of my reflection. the hate only grows in the face of my freedom to dance between guilt and distraction. we shout through the streets of the city and the people have nothing to say.

the couple on the bus dissects the crossword on the phone. I miss wanting to do things and being more than how I am.