BRUTAL SUNDAY SUNSET

'UNDER FIRE'

Why
Can I not treat myself 
With the kindness 
I show to my friends? 

Why 
Is my grief, anger, anxiety 
So relentlessly shameful
In my own mind? 

I do not like
Asking these questions,
Let alone contemplating 
The merciless answers. 

If circumstances were different
My mindset would be A-1 Healthy.
But they're not 
So it's not. 

SCREAM silently; 
Lie to those around me: 
A bad but effective way
To limp to the end of the day.
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A LONG WAY FROM HOME

Cruel summer; nearly ended. 
Home truths? They're here.  

Too much toxic stress 
Freshly squeezed into too few weeks. 

Psychological abuse? I know now.
It's right here in the family. 

Late last night, exhausted,
I looked into the mirror. 

A hushed, tender voice
Spoke softly in my mind:

You're a long way from home. 

What's meant by this? 
Something I need to work out.

But, in spite of blog absences, 
I'm here to stay.

 

 

CELESTIAL CORRESPONDENCE

Dear Buffy the Blogger: 

-- You've not blogged (or read blogs) for a while? 
-- You're feeling bad about it? 

Well, don't worry. 
Here's how it is (just my view, y'understand, but then again, I'm bloody clever):  

-- Your absence stems from mind-fog. 
-- Your mind-fog stems from agony. 
-- Your agony stems from anxiety. 
-- Your anxiety is a result of fear, OCD, some depression, and (last but not least) continuous psychological abuse from those too physically close for comfort. 

Give yourself a break, will you? 

You've not lost your inner strength, and the following things will return in time: 

-- Calm.
-- Clarity. 
-- Self-regard. 
-- Blogging mojo. 
-- Outer strength. 

And, even better, when that blogging mojo returns, you'll be able to express your thoughts on what's happened during this bloody cruel August and, hopefully, be able to help someone else. 

No worries, matey... 
YOU. WILL. BE. FINE.

Sincerely, 
The Angel on your shoulder. X

 

DRIFTWOOD

'NEO-MISANTHROPE BLUES'

I see you drifting; 
Drifting away. 
Far away. 

I'm moving away from you; 
Still standing firm
On my slice of driftwood.

Am I one for groups? 
I'm not follower, nor leader. 
Am I one to 'belong'?

I'm not always comfortable
Revealing the full contents 
Of my overcharged mind. 

I'm content this must be so. 
But at the same time? 
Truly devastated. 
  
Do I belong elsewhere, now?
A dilettante Diogenes 
In a cabin made of driftwood?

 

WHITE HORSES

'INELUDIBLE'
 
I can't see the tidal wave 
But I know that it is coming. 
I can't hear the tidal wave 
But I know that it is coming. 

I can't prepare, or hide from it
But I know that it is coming. 
I don't know when it will arrive
But I know it will be soon.

Soon my mind will be haywire:
A dark, chaotic miasma
Of brutal images and feelings
Will obscure my view of the world.

The minor considerations of life?
They cease to contain meaning.
The tenderness I feel for others?
Mostly frozen in stasis.

I hold tight to my small fixations
And to my minor eccentricities;
They're not much to be proud of
But I feel they're all I have.

I try to calm my mind and body
Aware that trying is not enough;
I know the tidal wave is coming
And my fear holds supremacy.

 

MISSING: UNDENIABLY

'ME, YOU & I'

I can't deny I'm missing you;
I fear that my mind's gone missing.
It's ran away to the pub on its own,
Leaving me struggling like an oaf
To connect thoughts with words.

I can't deny I'm missing you; 
I can't tell you how much I enjoy
Your wisdom, passion & artistry.
Plus your flawed humanity
That I share.

I can't deny I'm missing you; 
I want to improve my articulation 
And general clarity of thought. 
'Til I do, don't mistake quietness
For disinterest. 

I can't deny I'm missing you; 
My favourite seasons will come again.
Until they do, creativity must wait. 
But I am, at first and last, 
Still here.

ENDGAME

'NIGHTFALL GAMBITS'

Words, words, words.
Words pouring from my sore head 
Onto the screen; black on white.
Not quite a symphony in ink; 
But near enough, yes? 

Too many doubts and fears? 
Too much crap clogging up 
The pipes in your mind? 
LET IT OUT [!]
Clean out the rotten system.

All the people
Picking apart pain;
Chugging the balm
From sleek Olympian chalices; 
Calming nectarous merriment.

But fear is invading; 
A fleet of scares and sorrows
Including the fear of fear itself:
Muscles twitch and limbs shake; 
Will I be whole again?

Three colours of my moods:
Gold, silver and blue.
Not enough of the former,
Too many of the last: 
Improvement needed fast.

Hope for the best. 
Pray for the best. 
Prepare for the worse. 
It was ever thus.
Wasn't it?

Trapped. 
Twice trapp'd: 
Alone on the outside;
Alone on the inside. 
Doubly damned?

Set up the board, nicely. 
Do I play for checkmate? 
Stalemate? 
Zugzwang?
Or another option?

I move my pieces;
So does my opponent. 
I simply don't want to lose.
But is that enough?
Enough for victory?

Wednesday continues apace. 
Hours are long, days are short;
The sun will soon set in the west.
Just a game -- but the result? 
Time will tell.