Wine and sleepy pills

I don’t whine or sleep,
I just lash out
I don’t sleep I live
The constant, confined
I will again explode all over everything soon.

One alarm, second alarm
“Fix it now”
“Don’t shove me aside because I block happiness you shit, you child, you never-loved!”

Just hide from the swirling illogical,
In the music of the swirling illogical:
Fuck me unconscious Cecelia
You ephemeral vixen, you nothing,
No alarms, no shoving, I took my place in line.

Sick for proximity.
Horrible proximity.
This grouping,
This city,
This hole.



Because it moves on

and lament for something lost is whining.

I don’t want to be that beggar-pleader;

I’ll stick to being open to the comeround when it happens

Pathetic, yes, I’ve never not been thought of as such.

I have trouble moving on.

And I even feel bad for the people trying to move me on

With their pointed hurts, ignoring of what I know is inside them, the suppression of good feelings in favour of current happinesses.

A strong man could take it better than I, the hints not biting so hard, maybe even angry-making, world-ending.

But I understand, and that is my weakness; always I get the point of view of the other

Sometimes too late, but I accept it

And in time forgive it.

Oh to be strong in conviction.