The wind whistles against the fences
That we put up to hide the menace
The birds sing, and the trees whine
Against the barbed wire trenches
As if we were at war
And on the other side is no man’s land
In our houses built from bricks and mortar
And perhaps we are immortal
Shunning all that is mortal
Under illusions that we are moral
And as we hurtle towards our great demise
Some look out of their windows
And come to realise
More death has come
All while we’ve continued to shun
And they get to asking
‘What have we done?’
Tired beyond comprehension
The world too full and empty
Nothing to be awake for
No desires to fulfil
But for this thirst for something
not quite resembling anything
Just a pain
festering in an unseen wound
Lungs full of empty
Tired to the bone
A contortion of years
Pass by on faces
For milliseconds at a time
Frankenstein’s skeletons within
Through the pores of our skin
Stories running through the wrinkles
Creasing at the thought of those we’ve lost
Skin sagging with the baggage
Consciousness a savage
On our mammalian brains
The human is a contortionist
Bending and folding into boxes
Dissecting the world into words
Trying to communicate to…
Who? no one really knows
We just do it because we do
And in our prisms
With ink spilled
With erroneous conclusions to come to
we share a shared unknowledge that we are not who we are
but some other
We all conclude
We should go ‘back’
Whatever that means
As if we left somewhere
When we get back to nature
It is said
We will understand
To which I must ask
When do you claim we left
That to which we are intrinsically attached?
It’s the words we use that built these walls
Language, a microscope to help communicate
About the world
But we forgot to step back from the scope
And see we are within
all the things we point to ‘out there.’
The waves crash
and things erode and clash
A fierce dragons tail
Eking out a living with every thrash
Ramshackle homes built upon the ash
All for man who was so brash
casting spells all upon the land
with words that shrouded kingdoms
A mixture of illusion & delusion
The vultures clean our words
In the morning when they get to work
Pecking away at the remains
Of our yesterdays
If not for them
We’d be in up to our knees
Wading through the aftermath
But when all is said and done
There will be a bigger backlash
For us as one
The dragons tail
that we can’t help but become.
Music, apparently it has the power to make people feel emotions.
Happy, sad, angry, sentimental etc.
But for me it doesn’t matter if it’s a happy song or a sad song; it all sounds depressing to me.
Music either makes me sad or sentimental but never happy.
The happier the song often, the sadder I become.
Because it’s a sound so cut off from anything I’ve ever felt, it sounds to me like delusion and desperation rather than happy and fun times.
Happy songs seem like tears should always mark their endings.
Because that’s what music is to me, it’s audio wallpaper over changes.
I blame TV and films for this. You know those scenes where two characters say their goodbyes for the last time, and then the music plays as the camera shows one of them walking away, getting further and further away as the credits start to scroll over the screen.
Or the music plays as someone has an epiphany that will be good in the long run, but at that moment it’s tinged with sadness, goodbyes, change.
Music is a vehicle for emotion; it moves it through you, emphasizes feelings you already had but weren’t necessarily aware of.
For me, music is a chariot for my sadness, something I listen to when I need my sadness to have sound.
But otherwise, music is too overwhelming because my feelings even in the silence are already too much.
To put music on for me is like going full throttle, no breaks.
Speeding to the inevitable crash.
It’s not secret on this blog that Depression takes me over a lot.
That my depression is a chronic reoccurring nightmare that not only tires me, but the people around me too.
Perhaps last year and still through to this year one major reason for such severe blips lately is the delayed impact of losing my best friend in January 2020 .
Yes she was ‘only a little budgie’ but she wasn’t ‘only a little budgie’ to me.
It didn’t help that I didn’t lose her in the usual way either. I lost her due to my own mistake, and that is something I find very hard to live with.
As it is I’m already a person prone to guilt, never mind a mistake where a little innocent life was ruined, or ended because of a mistake I made in the first place.
I had a dream last night that she came back home and then I lost he all over again, and throughout the whole dream I just kept hearing her calls but yet never finding where the calls were coming from.
And I’ve done that in real life too. I’ve heard calls I thought were her.
I’ve sat in the bathroom brushing my teeth and heard a call that sounded like it was coming from behind the extractor fan grid.
I’ve heard calls when walking out into the corridor from my flat.
I’ve heard calls I thought sounded like her when outside but it was probably just another bird that sounded a bit like her. Or maybe she sounded like them.
I see feathers from different birds that have been either moulted or stripped off from a predator and I always stop in my tracks and look more closely, looking for her blue colour in the feather.
Sometimes I see the blue colour and then I look around and say, ‘Charlie?’ As if the feather is hers and she’s somewhere close by.
But she’s never there. She’s never here.
Sometimes I look down at a feather for a bit too long, in the way of someone trying to get past me while keeping a distance.
I look and look, and look some more till I convince myself I see blue, her blue. And it’s hers.
But it isn’t.
Sometimes I look at the feather, look around and then say aloud, ‘I’m sorry, Charlie.’
It might have been a mistake, but I still blame myself.
It might not have been purposeful, but I still blame myself.
And I don’t know if there will ever come a time I won’t blame myself.
I have a budgie I ended up rescuing, he has learnt some funny phrases. And it makes me laugh.
But I still
Emptiness grows like weeds
Crawling and creeping
Inside of me
Knotweed spiraling around my veins
My roots pulled
Till nothing can ground me
Life thrives around me
But the essence of me
Has long since died
The wind may gush
Rain pour over us
Loss become ever present
And silence us in sentence
Lost in the prism of someone’s absence
Tears may come to pass
Despair making maps
But one must imagine
A dinosaurs teacup
That never gets smashed