one of these days, and very soon (even if it seems like lifetimes), it will resolve.

i have aches, i am ill. it washes over me til i find myself sleeping for centuries at a time - this deathstyle could not be mine, i feel my heart and my mind will not stop rolling under riptides and surfacing for the first time baptized twice and seventy-five i'm up to my last time this time surely there will be a break  sometime
i
need
air

so i push through the fear and wake earlier year by year by/a new beginning breathes life back into the air. have you seen the trees out here? i swear they've been round hundreds of years, they twist and stretch and split and blossom, you are missing it dear

so much hidden, so much hiding still

where will you end up? where will you start up? where will you middle up?
i have an irrational anxiety lightly ebbing, south beach as opposed to cottesloe. it consists of home and loved and potential and/or lack thereof. but there is so much! why not just grasp it? you have hands, you have ideas. you have not been digging, love.
listen back, re-compile. create. re-create also, you have it all at your fingertips. administrate, adjudicate.

it is so very necessary to get proper sleep. you must take in the luxuries while you have them, juju, you must absorb all that you can and then expel it again don't just keep it cooped up in there all pidgeon-holed and birdshitdiseased. either that or let it decompose post-mortem first and then see what texture appears. you like that sorta shit.

so potential, hey? frustrating when your most accessed or most natural talent is currently swinging about in the rafters also, having forgotten where the ladder was. teetering on the moulding beams, knowing 5 stories and thick red velvet curtain wait beneath but carefree... hundreds of tiny flashing eyes blinking featherbrained and fearful from darkest corners.
time, m'dear. one way or another you'll hook her. keep paddling out, or climbing up disjointed staircase, or scratching purposefully at the tiny pieces of stuff that create the surface - so much hidden

so much hiding still...

one minnesota two minnesota

a few hours of sleep, not even. maybe 2. eyes slowly open, the noise of his fears rattling through my brain until i realize groggily i am still on the couch, and he is talking at me. it is cold, i shiver even with the hot water bottle.

so, i see that you refused to take responsibility for my life in any way again yesterday. something is wrong here, i am losing control you used to just do these things for me it is a test (this is not a test) and and i must get it back somehow but i can't lose her and fuck that bitch for making me feel like this

half-formed answers tumble out of my mouth while i slip in & out, in & out, in & out of consciousness. apparently most will aggravate regardless of the compassion injected... or attempted to, being only just awake and all that. one eye catches his glare. directly in front, talking at me, pushing on me down down down no this is not mine i must resist

did you see the song i left here for you? jeff, he says forget her, or that he is trying to... did you feel the pain that i feel when i hear this, when i see your face sleeping so peacefully out here even when i have laid in your bed all night twisting and twisting and twisting and

i have lost it again, until an 'oi!' jolts my subconscious out of first place and over the back of the podium. it induces anxiety, it makes me shudder uncontrollably sometimes, just sometimes. more questions, more very important nothing, disgust masking the deepest sadness behind his eyes. i close mine again. he is chopping up and i am making incomprehensible noises as my vague overtired body aches. it probably infuriates him more, i am somewhat aware of the effect, you are oblivious to the cause

pretending to sleep isn't going to get you out of this you know, i will continue to hound you until you give me the answer i want. whywhywhywhywhyfuckingwhy - time to pull out the big guns i think, you know i got some legal advice yesterday, yes that's right there's the tinge of fear in your eyes and you know if we break the lease you and i you and i have to pay it out for the rest of the 3 months, yes that's right so you better listen up cause i'm not going down easy, if it hurts then good. i need the control back i need you i fucking miss you

4am i got home, please leave me be. i am now distressed and anxious first thing in the morning, after last night being so fresh and so free... my conscious defenses are still in standby and i take hit after hit but now he is pulling that cone and breathing it straight back out at me, i hide my face so as not to have to smell it strong and clouded. he has to go to work, he has more to say, i am not even sure what these words have become but something hits and i curl up to cry. he gets in close and tries to touch tries to comfort tries to something - what, no this is not ok you think you can slam me into the ground and then pick me up and say baby who hurt you so bad here lemme fix it all up no you are not my cause or effect any longer. just go, i will push you out until you physically leave. not before the last word of course, but internal last words saying go, just go -

and so he does. breathe. watch him go (out of the corner of your eye in case he sees). he told you to get into bed, into your bed, into the bed that smells like him because he has been sleeping there more than i in the last week, it is full to the brim with his tears and confusion. but it is o.k, all in due course. breathe.

the wind and the boiling kettle make a similar sound. a rush, a push. the nicotine high dragging you back. it is cold and the air pushes down past the flue and into my (room). i will sleep here, i will give it up. it's not a question of compromise, just an understanding and accepting. now. warmth, sufficiency. the marks remain but bounce back fresh and alive. i have seen god. i will learn her ways and return with the force of the wave. this is what you did. this is what you did. this is what you did. this is what you did.





breathe it out and blow it away

i am saying now, this is it.

it is done.

p.s.

pressure release. you will deal. (un)do it yourself.

that's the reason

why is it that when i genuinely think i am ok, i still get tears welling after my friend puts his hand on my head and then walks away? or when my lover chooses to go somewhere else tonight, even if it is good for them? as i am comfortable and surrounded by familiarity and brisk hills air, i am so full of sorrow. his lyrics catch me every time, when i cannot pull them out from behind my own jaws he finds them hidden behind his medulla oblongata and screams that shit out.

and maybe revel; ations

i wipe my nose and hold my breath for a moment

tape unravels, and wire bends

i know it (, carry on?)

it's as you go to leave, as you actually leave

as i hang up the phone or as you exceed me -

you may see otherwise but these eyes are mine.

i like it when there's air, it mixes well with my tears

when things end

i have such minimal control and the anxiety wells up parallel

i hate it when i have to hide

beneath your cerebellum behind your holy teeth

it might just be hell to me