waiting for dust to settle.

i catch myself staring.

i am staring into cupboards that hold the past, onto the vineyards that once breathed passion, i am staring into the hems of these sheets, onto pages that hold a different handwriting to mine, i am staring at the porch that swallows stars during the night and catches the sun, i am staring at these wallpapers that bracketed in photographs, and i see clearly, what memories can do to a human being’s threshold of pain,

when i look in the mirror

and do not recognise

who is staring,

staring back,

that very moment with

eyes placid and dulled,

shoulders pulled and exhausted.

these lines were drawn with 

dotted uncertainty,

the ebb and flow does still push in

too much,

until i bend with its tension.

my mind is its worst enemy,

i have long learnt to stop blaming

external forces and you, him, her, them

for my mind’s own demise.

to the man who 

struck and struck and struck, 

you are not the cause of my fear.

i am the cause of my own fear,

for i took it, and took it, and took it.

so i throw it all back,

i throw it all back in,

like swallowing dirt,

because i tell myself

it is the good that counts.

it is the good that counts.

it is the good that counts.

the big bad wolf will not howl tonight,

the big bad wolf will not howl.

my mind is on fire

as i lie asleep,

amongst the throws of visions.

i have always slept through treacherous times,

which makes it harder to get away

from these wretched mares, that burn

and shrivel my thoughts until

my eyes, my skin and my strength melts.

i wake from these bleak and self concocted spells,

cowering, sweating, weeping.

but spells will wash away, eventually

and i hope the tides will wash me away with them.