ajar

you make a case for waking up without even trying. the most wonderful waste of time and taxes. between daydreams and confessions there’s hope enough to dilute any doubt or distance. leave the answers room to change with what we wanted on the floor. I keep the door ajar for next time if it comes. there are worse things I could want.

something for everyone

the prison is more than just a shopping mall. you can watch the football in the garden or go out for Italian. dimly lit restaurants and offices. a chemist and a branch of the bank I need to leave. they’re even selling apartments. if you have the money you can buy a home above the cells they used to hide the monsters and the misperceived. there’s a playground in the courtyard. children hang from monkey bars and ice creams. parents on the bench fall into their phones. there’s coffee inside if they need it. the prison has something for everyone now.

I make friends with an orange cat on the front lawn of the house. he rolls around and melts into my pets as though he knows me and I’m safe. maybe he wants me to stay but I can’t. there’s time to fill and far too much to fit. watch me chase the sun until I nearly miss the tram. I’ll do my best and try to write about the clouds before they pass.

expectation at the door

we leave the moment to itself and expectation at the door. open the blinds to greet the day as it comes: a soft smile through morning clouds. with time and space for breathing all the edges round a little softer than before. look around and there are birds in the trees and flowers to pick from neighbours’ gardens. it’s really nice to see you. should we lie and watch the ceiling? nothing needs to mean more than a happy thought or moment. we can stop and be without wanting more than where or how we are (for now).

broken toys

words don’t work like before. ‘more than enough’ is a bandaid for the gaps I can’t fill. thoughts are wider than the fickle flakes of language they’re tied to. I’d let you read the prompter if I could tear it out. take a pen; make any change you like. write me over between what you see and what it is you want. maybe you don’t have the time. there’s much more on the way and you’ve been more than kind enough. happy boys leave broken toys where they belong. at least we were today and I heard you sing my song.

whatever’s next

I walk out of the house to find some sun before it disappears. wishful thinking brings a book to read. sitting under the tree at the top of a hill I pass on my runs. the sun casts tall shadows down the slope and washes autumn branches golden. it warms one side of my face as the other shivers for attention in my shadow. easy imbalance all within my control. change sits at my whim. I’ll turn when I need to (if I do).

focus falters. so much time poured into a screen at a desk. check the news to wake up and get over myself. they’re still bombing schools. I’m still sleeping every night. more footage of parents screaming over their children’s remains. I double tap and scroll on to holidays or haircuts or whatever’s next in line. sometimes I catch myself and think I’ll throw up but I don’t. conscious moments sobered to a dystopic state of being - all too rare and overwhelming. much better to chase distraction from the madness. leave the furnace at the door: the illness is safer than the cure.

feelings embellish moments to make mountains of thoughts passing with the clouds. I oscillate between sense and the absurd like a door in the breeze. close the window when the rain comes. listen to the shower empty through the pipes in the walls and lie on the floor to get to know my ceiling. I think about hope and the claws that fit so perfect round my wrist. why do I keep crawling back? dream of freedom from dreams that free me from facing myself in the mirror.

sound and motion

the tram spills out onto a street swarm of strangers streaming silent screams for something more than what’s within reach. I jump to join them and chase brief relief in the surrender of this paper-thin identity to a fluid mass of skin and cotton. we wait at the crossing for the flashing green man but I need not look for him or anything beyond the pavement beneath a pair of shoes I should replace. my movement follows someone else’s in the crowd. sound and motion somewhere. what joy to be excused from myself.

static anyway

days start with clouds and a cold nose before saying yes again. most mornings blue skies triumph in the end, though I can feel the seasons rolling on the breeze that shakes my window. the sound of leaves crunching on the sidewalk is a memory of making angels in the gardens. we fed the ducks bread and watched them dive under the moss. autumn. the days will get colder and we’ll start wearing more layers. I need to find a jacket for the rain.

the flames on my phone paint a picture of hell I can make the choice to witness. I disappoint myself in chasing other avenues of focus bent towards myself. only stop to reflect on my apathy in the dark and quiet stillness before I fall asleep. selective compassion or self preservation? am I deciding when or is my empathy depleting? the schools burn regardless.

dreams take me places I can’t reach and I slide absently through my subconscious, in and out of consequence and feeling. spat out the other end back into a frame I tire of wearing every day. sometimes I remember where I’ve been, though words are never quite enough to tell the story as it was. we could say the same for anything. it’s all static anyway.