The trees bared all and the woods collected the debris of life. Feet left their prints and the Robins remained the last birds singing. Clouds cast shadows so as to smother the light of day. A murder of Crows cawed their raucous cries and the world looked and felt like the end. But it was worse. Days and nights merged without an end in sight.
The more you resist the more it sticks
The more you distract
The more it comes back
Try to let go
The more you hold
Try to stop thinking
The more you think
I think I’ve found the meaning of life
Shadows of dinosaurs
On my wall
Bushy tails shaking
Something I can’t decipher
Perhaps about a dinosaur up above
About to come down
And grasp at life with its talons
The birds singing…
In the funeral home
That breath …
That lingering goodnight kiss
Each silence has it’s own sound
The other day I felt so oddly calm. It may have been lack of motivation to care about anything. I don’t know.
But it was certainly calm. I even started writing up about ‘calmness’ only to find I was too calm to continue typing it up. I realise I had nothing much to say other than, “wow i feel so oddly relaxed considering how agitated and desperate I became just a few days earlier.”
Well, that calmness has gone.
I’m agitated and irritated by every little thing, even things that would normally have at least a minimal soothing effect.
Ear defenders to have some semblance of silence after I felt that noise was irritating me, only to find the ear defenders started to irritate me and then the silence started to irritate me. And then when I took them off I was irritated all over again at the feel of my ears getting used to not being covered again. Then I was irritated by the noises again.
I paced a bit. Came back in. Was instantly irritated by being back in my flat.
Tried talking to someone, not about this topic just about anything to distract myself. Felt irritated with the conversation. Realised halfway through talking I couldn’t really be bothered with it and so said those things you’re expected to say, “So i’m going back to my flat now, see you tomorrow,” All that stuff. Went back to my flat.
The voices on the radio, music, knowing certain people exist in the world, my own existence, the frailty of life, the lack of any meaning to it despite all the fucking suffering, agitation and angst.
Which is like a slap in the face. Why bother with all these emotions when it’s all so pathetically ‘accidental’ and meaningless?
Yet still, my biology feels the way it feels. We like to try and forget that our biology dictates a lot of how we feel.
And that is just another slap in the face, my brain, my body keeps sending all these hormonal signals and neurons into a frenzied attack of making me want to scream all the while knowing I’ll be irritated by my own fucking screaming.
Everyone’s feelings and attitudes absorbed by me (or so I perceive) and all I want to do is push it all away. Keep away from me with your feelings and your baggage is what I want to scream at people. KEEP THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!
And then in the silence and in being alone, I realise I can’t cope with my own baggage either. At this point my baggage is so messy it’s not even funny. The bag is bulging to the brim of messed up shit, a lot that makes no sense. And I can’t seem to tease anything apart into breakable, edible pieces.
I think of a song I might want to listen to because a lyric comes to mind then I realise, no I don’t wanna hear any fucking sound. Even if it is one of my favourite bands.
The sun shining is provoking me, poking my agitation with its rays, “Here I am. A complete contrast to how you feel. Ah just soak me up.” And for a moment I think, “Maybe soaking you up will help?” After all sunlight is good for us, isn’t it?
But I’m resentful of the sun shining right now in this moment. I’m resentful that humans as a species made it so the sun is a symbol of happiness. Because I can’t connect to that word, or that feeling and never have been truly able to.
I think it’s a thing that doesn’t exist. Not in the way it’s sold.
But despite knowing this, I feel I’m perpetually mourning the ideals of ‘happiness’ we’ve been sold.
When I was amazingly calm the other day I remember feeling like I’d let go of everything, because everything just was and everything just is. I wasn’t particularly happy, in fact what I was somewhat feeling could have been described as sad. But I’d somehow for the day managed to let go of any expectations and of other stuff I can’t quite put my finger on, and so any feelings were just…well they didn’t have much weight to them.
What puts the weight back into them? I don’t know how my feelings gained weight again. I just know they did. And now they’re obese again with pressure and the heart is working harder to keep from losing itself.
Your eyes an intrusion
Sending shivers up my spine
Please don’t look my way
I’m monstrous tonight
With all these thoughts
Trapped inside my brain
Like Caterpillars trapped in purgatory
Never quite getting anywhere
Or past the realm of here
No catalyst for tears
The hush of the sea sounds like the worlds breath
Each breath a different shape
Each slotting together
like a jigsaw
Why, I want to live on a secluded island
Away from everyone
So that I can feel lonely on my own
And scream “No one cares about my despair”
And not feel like an attention seeker
Because no one would be there to hear
And it’d take the burden away
Leaving me with these tyrants in my brain
Burning away at the scaffolding
Holding up my attempts at building
And I can be left within this ash and ruin
And maybe these tyrants would begin to tame
Without anymore buildings
To put up in flames
The blue sky is there
You just need to wait
For the clouds to roll on by
Days, weeks or months
This too shall pass.
Including that thought
That nothing ever lasts
All the while
Your own world, still
With the rush of time
By the windowsill
Trying to reconcile anguish
With the stretch of indifferent hours
The clap of a birds wings
Bringing you into the present
Feelings still the same
Despite the heartless
Whims of the clock
Telling you it’s
A new day
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