unformed 20.10

hiding, to return later. Maybe. So many years walking this hopeless carpet, watching the grey candyfloss wombs grow heavier, flecked with pale spider limbs and desiccated flies, the constant shuddering of the floor and walls resonating to the battered traffic heading up the hill. Can’t go anywhere today. Even a sideways glance is enough to kick at my heart. Straight ahead or fast asleep. Think of nothing, just feel the dark treacle of hopelessness seeping into the machinery. A failed son, brother, husband, father. All the pointless daily triumphs – the socks in pairs, the draining board cleared, money put in slots, half spent already – do nothing to shift the stain. Close the door, leave the phone depleted, the blinds down. Nobody calls, nobody knows. Hiding from those who do not seek me. All the money’s gone and the air is running out and it’s far too late to pick another path. Hide from yourself. It’s not easy. The omnipresent droning of the TV, lapsing in and out of consciousness on the threadbare, snap springed sofa, wishing time would stop or finish toying with me, get it over and done with. Once a sorrow at the idea of leaving loved ones now feels like emancipation for us all. Staring at the tunnel mouth, waiting for you. You’re not coming. You are somewhere else. In here, alone, away from winds and snapping  dogs, I manage to latch the trailing rope around something, I dig my heels into the carpet, scudding past beneath feet in comedy socks. Out there it’s everywhere. I can’t hold on. Only in here, alone, comforted by my trophies and my barricades and my trenches. Waiting for you to answer a call I never made, by the tunnel mouth, tired morning to sad broken slumber, the same dead dream with a brand new face

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.