And I’m feeling rough. Not sure why. My brain has been all over the place. I keep forgetting things – even when I’m in the place that I want to be for the things I’ve forgotten, but even though I know there is something missing my brain is just not getting it.
I also feel sickly and headachey, though. Perhaps I am due one of my god awful nightmares for being so stressed all the time. There just doesn’t seem to be a moment where I stop, at the minute. Even in my dreams I’m racing around trying to fix stuff.
I had to go out to the shop today because I needed to buy the thing I knew I’d forgotten when I went yesterday… yet even when I went today I forgot what it was, despite it being the second shop I’d looked in for it. Maybe my brain is falling apart. I suppose I should have figured that out when I managed to write a piece of poetry last night.
I never manage to write so beautifully and freely unless there is something wrong – even when I can’t figure out what’s wrong. And yesterday I managed it. My lovely friend, Miss ‘Timony Souler, said she thought it was “rather sad, and angry all at the same time.” I think that’s probably a good description of it. I shall post it here in case you haven’t seen it, anyway.
Poetry. Or lyrics. I’m not sure. Not even sure how it happened.
Sometimes I’d like to go where no one knows me.
Sometimes my dreams produce someone who holds me.
And when his face dips low I know he’ll kiss me there
And when I hear the rain I hope he’ll miss me. Dare
I hope he’ll miss me,
Think he’ll kiss me.
Unhopeful hopeful falling down.
And when I think it I’ll hit the ground.
Unhopeful hopeful falling down
Your loving frown.
Can’t be more than this
To fill my heart up
With your love wrenched kiss.
Unhopeful hopeful a little trip.
Unhopeful hopeful it’s just a blip.
But sealing all the pain away
I shake your voice again today.
Broken rhythms – a pretty blue.
Broken guitarists; melody too.
I’ll tear the stage up – a bloody mess.
The violent vocals I can’t impress
Make your ears weep a crimson hue
With broken rhythms – a pretty blue.
Unhopeful hopeful a tiny scar.
Unhopeful hopeful – there we are.
Beat the bassist and snap the chords.
Choking solos, silence keyboards.
I’ll hold the amp down and strain the set
With unspoken flaring in every fret.
And words. And words.
And words of rage.
And words. And words.
They blank the page.
Unhopeful hopeful a little numb.
Unhopeful hopeful so very dumb.
It’s getting late now; the spotlight’s strum.
So bleed the mic jacks and smash the drum.
We’ll kill the sound now…
Anyway, that’s the poem. I bought myself some truffles and a chocolate bar with bits of cookie in. I’ve been craving it for days and figured that seeing as no one will be buying me Valentines stuff this year I will just buy myself some and then I will get drunk and sing ‘All By Myself’ in a ridiculous homage to the beginning of the first Bridget Jones’s Diary film. Of course, my version will probably be Tina Turner’s I Don’t Wanna Lose You because I know the words better and sing it anyway when I’m cleaning… which is a bit depressing in itself.
It’s the 7th today. It’s the date I was supposed to be born. I guess that means I’m technically 22 and 9 months anyway. My mum hoped I’d wait another week for that ugly day of fake love and romance (‘cause why should you show someone that you love them on only one day a year? Why can’t you have the guts and the passion to do it every day in small ways? Or don’t you love them at all?) but I didn’t (thank the gods). I was two weeks late and subsequently a Pisces instead of an Aquarius, which is fine by me.
Maybe it’s the full moon and that’s why I’m blathering. Strange things happen on full moons. Lunacy.
I rather love the moon.
I’ve told you before, I know, but I do. She’s so steady and quiet up there in her sky. She sees the secret things that lie half-hidden in the dark. I’m not really a light person ‘because my light is too slight to hold back all my dark’ as some beautiful lyrics say. But there is light and dark in all of us. I don’t think I could write half as well without my darkness, though. Maybe it’s why I’m so attracted to those who live their lives in half-darkness too – like a moth to a candle flame. Maybe that’s why I get so burnt.
I wonder if my bout of poetry is me finally giving up on him.
But then, it could be anticipation of something else, I suppose. I wish I could tell you… but I can’t. Life shouldn’t have to be this complicated. I shouldn’t have to be this complicated – vulnerable yet putting up this silly show and useless shield all the time. But there are so many worries on my mind all the time. Maybe one day I’ll explode.
If only we didn’t have to worry about the ones we love… but I guess if we didn’t worry about them so much we probably wouldn’t love them as we do.
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