Wednesday 25 April 2012

Falling


I'm walking through

there was always somewhere in my mind that I looked to escape. I used to call it my island, my dirty little island, I imagined it as one of those cartoon types, with a palm tree in the middle and it being about big enough to lie across, nothing more. But it was dark, dark grey, like it was being seen on a black and white TV, and it was cold and nervous, in the aftermath of a storm, rainclouds circling around and it being a dirty haven against the acid rain all around, burning into the water and pushing me closer to the centre.

The sad, helpless way of escaping, and even that has disappeared now. Last night I spent hours searching for it, looking through the mist and the rain, searching amongst the wreckage and the dead animals but it's gone, sunk, disappeared into the frightening sea. And so I wander now, looking at my hands shaking, shivering in the April frosts, looking for something that doesn't exist

Pills

Powder in a plastic capsule that dissolves in my stomach. I don't know what it is but my doctor tells me it's OK. It's like a parachute with all its strings broken, falling towards the red streaks in the sea where my island used to be. It doesn't give me my island back because it's not in my head, it's just a chemical reaction, but they at least give me a shred of hope, a thin line to hold on to.

My doctor tells me, my hands are still shaking, but it's OK. It's OK.