pack it in

cycling through the day
a life set on repeat
but for the chance to break
this everlong
creatively explode from this 8-5
shatter the glass windscreen oppressing me
sounds exaggerated
"it’s a job mate"
"cameron’s britain"
so what did i work for?
write books for?
studiously devote for?
long way off now my friends

into the darkness
swallowing me whole
my creativity dredged from my bed
no love and no fucking happens here
only the space to remind
only the view of the campus through the window
'not here anymore are you'
gone to pay the bills on another day
no clever wordplay or shakespearean lilt
just plain ol’ fucking english
litters my tongue

i can’t even pack it in and go home
this is my home
im already packed
i already gave in
this is the ‘simple’ life
this is the uncomplicated
this is fucking bullshit

2 maybe 300 jobs
no replies
no possibility of an exit
wounding my artists soul
bleakening the road ahead
same old shit different day seems so bitter
dusting the effervescent glaze over my eyes

ive given up
ive packed it in

i need help

Had a vivid dream about you. We escaped and lived under a motorway in a post apocalyptic world. Everything was orange except your beautiful pale skin. I knew it was you but you took the form of Debra Morgan from Dexter. Although I can map how you look consciously I guess my subconscious likes to play around. Utterly bizarre and blissful wake up this morning.

Im so upset. Been a day of small failures. With a break in the middle of success only to be tainted by something powerfully symbolic.

Being frivolously told by your best friend, whom you thought you knew inside and out, that he is part of the freemasons as if it is no big deal made me feel like the person in front of me was alien and distant. Like our deep connection and all the trust we shared was meaningless. 2011 he became one and since then he has told me things no one else knows. Things so painful he can barely utter the words. Yet something as heavy as this left in the bank? Maybe I have this out of context but his disregard toward my surprise made me feel so lost in his company. Like the mask he used to remove when we spoke was simply covering another mask, one I just couldn’t see. Why?

Then after the accomplishment of eradicating the mould in the bathroom and my room and subsequently bonding with my new housemate, it was dashed away after I discovered the stains the cleaner had left on my bangles. More specifically yours. Like spit spatterings of disapproval and distaste. Marking the band that stops the blade against my wrist that could have been a disastrous accident whilst at work. Tainting the one thing I have with me always to remind me of my worth, somebody care(d)(s) about me. Despite my many flaws I can be good and I can be decent. I can beat this and I can be content, questionable at present.

I admit the combination of today’s failures is the ultimate reason for my dismay, layered upon the seemingly everlong search for purpose and peace. But without them maybe I could branch out and feel freer and less useless. Tomorrow is another day and there are things to be done. Jobs to seek and purposes to fill, however futile they feel for now. It goes without saying that I miss you but what is more is I miss your will and energy, your drive and your ability to overcome. These things are buried under the weight of fear but I am ever striving to dig deep. You may be the missing ingredient, but to make a cake you need many and I have a few more to collect.