Like record baby, right right, round round.

Wednesday, 25 June 2014

I hear the silence.  I try to fill it but the words went away.

So instead I'll post something from, my personal journal that pretty much sums it up.

I’ve not written for a while and yet it was not intentional.  What to write with when the words, they went away? These fingers twitched and this heart stuttered, yet you can’t talk in punctuation.  You need the words.
I feel irrevocably broken.  It’s no clean snap nor delicate fracture.  It’s pieces.  Mainly bits.
I can’t control this.
Yet it’s controlling me.
I’m swinging violently through moods that cycle rapidly.
There’s the incandescent rage, it’s burning my veins and giving my breaths teeth.  My eyes are looking through lens’ made with malice and my thoughts are dripping with vitriol; thick and bitter.  I find myself wanting to break things, to destroy everything with my hands and teeth.  I want to make life bleed.  I’m snapping at everyone, my poor babies have a monster for a mum.  My tolerance levels are reaching none existent.  I’m a lit fuse that can’t be extinguished. I’m on fire.  I’m burning.  I’ll burn you.
Until I’m falling.  Like a stone. Plummeting.
It’s dark, so fucking dark.  I can’t see you.  I can’t see me.
There is no me.
It starts with explosive distress.  The white noise is screaming.  The black dog; he’s howling.  I watch it shred my remains into ribbons and the ribbons, they fray.
Make it stop.  Make it stop.  Make it stop.
Everything is black and red.  Why won’t this noise stop?
& then it’s raining.
It’s raining and I’m drowning.
Violent sobs that choke me.  (Can’t breath. Can’t breath.  Can’t breath)
You can only fall for so long.  Eventually you land.  You hit the bottom.  With a thud, or a splat.  Inelegant and messy.
Into the grey.
Breaths are slow and thick; chunks of misery that stick in your throat.
This is the despair.
Utter despondency.
There is no hope.  No light.  Just the silence and the white noise in sloppy competition.
You can’t see through this.
You can barely move.
This is the harrowing.
Most things pass, eventually.  The wheel turns.  The world tilts.
& then you’re numb.
Life is the grey cat that’s claimed your lap.  It’s going nowhere.  It barely acknowledges you and yet it’s preventing you moving.
You’re inanimate.
The apathy is a new skin, this skin is heavy.
Yet there is a peace here.
Hear no evil.
See no evil.
Think no evil.
Speak no evil.
Do no evil.
You just are, and yet also so dreadfully not.  Anything.  Anyone.
There’s no anger here.  No fear. No distress. No despair.

& no joy.

Until the wheel moves again.


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