Shockwave of awakening

 

I scrambled through

the shockwave of awakening.

The bomb blast damage.

Severed limbs of who I'd once been.

Memories scattered in the wings,

hopes and dreams away on the wind.

And a song drifting, a simple childhood

melody. A song of joy, in a sea of debris.

A lifeboat, a requiem to infinity.

 

Driftwood on dry land.

 

And I picked at pieces,

worn edges cut at my fingers,

but I picked up the slivers.

And I turned them over, gently.

I guided my fingers

over their burnt remains,

feeling the charred surface fall away,

to see the shine within.

The glint of future,

starlight twinkling...

 

I see the reflection of my eyes,

a smile inside a fragment of glass.

And I pick up more

to see how they feel.

 

Are they sharp, are they soft,

are they warm, are they real?

Every movement shines new light,

brings new insight. Every broken part,

a new memory, a storied heart.

And I grasped them tight.

Red seeping into tomorrow.

To see what they made me

 

feel.

 

Who was I? Was he real?

Who would I be? How do I heal?

And what do I wish to see follow?

 

I didn't want to replicate

a carbon-copy former me,

that would be a mission of futility.

So, I began to create,

to build myself a new future,

letting art take me to a better place.

Using sticky-backed plastic

and tubs of old paint,

an empty Fairy washing-up bottle,

and I flew to the moon

in the rocket I transformed it into.

 

And I looked down, to work out my place

in the grand scheme of things.

I didn't want to be a king of kings,

but a singer of others' dreams.

I want to be someone who gives,

but also, someone willing to receive.

And I know in my heart, I believe,

that I am

someone who can shed a tear

and throw some light

onto the stage of your memories.

 

But I'd need to build a better me.

One who wears a smile instead of tears of grief.

 

I took memories and I held them to the light

to shine on the intricacies,

to work out the discrepancy,

to file away redundancy

in a cabinet labelled - inadequacy.

 

I devoured their stories, and I saw

branching pathways.

Happiness to the left,

misery to the right,

and me,

growing roots in the ground.

So, I dug deep down,

sweat pouring from my brow,

dirt encrusting my feet.

And I gripped those roots tight

and pulled with all my might,

feeling my back creak

and crack under the strain.

And I started to move,

to feel

 

Free,

 

and I walked to the left,

to see what was right.

Dear Diary

 

Dear diary,

today I feel low. Not because

anything has happened,

but because nothing has...

Loneliness is a shadow that creeps in,

a puddle ever-expanding. Before you

know it, it is wrapped around your toes,

and starts dragging you down.

 

Like gravity then, it pulls you in.

Every footstep becomes

heavier.

Where before you'd bounce,

now you slouch

ever lower

to the

ground.

Until you're crawling

like an animal,

begging for scraps.

 

And I want to call a friend, but then

I don't have many of them. And to call

would make me a burden, so I just stare on

vacantly at the wall, whilst all around, my

sense of perspective starts to fall.

 

Dear diary, it's been a day

and still I'm slumping in the grey.

I just can't lift this gloopy mood,

it seeps over every surface,

like school days glue.

Everything I touch just turns to dust,

and I feel my mental state

has already started to rust.

And I'm flat, like a tyre punctured by glass.

And I want to call, but I have no attire

and I'm tired at best.

 

Dear diary, I feel great. I got a call,

must have been fate - just one call,

that's all it took. Inspired me

to open my eyes and look.

 

See, I'd been asleep,

same as I'd spent most of these days,

just spending my hours in between dreams.

And then a buzz,

a vibration from my phone,

a call - my eyes opened.

Alert. focused.

I left my home. And

whilst I may have been

awkward, and slightly low,

the laughter lifted me,

and slowly

that mood started to grow.

So now I'm buzzed. But stupidly tired.

I'll retire to bed, I'll need a lie-in.

Overstimulated

 

I stare at your face, every soft curve

perfectly in place, your hair, every one

of its millions of strands elegant, a frame

for beauty, and I stare, with eyes glazed.

As your lips raise, I realise you're speaking,

and I regain my focus - those softly spoken words,

a wish of a dream, a kiss on the breeze, a drifting

lullaby of memories to be...

And the sound of the room

comes rushing in like a flood.

Every splattered laugh, every cough,

every gasp, every whisper, every over-excited shout,

the fruit machine in the corner, coins rushing out,

a cacophony of copper, a glass dropped,

a car alarm goes off. I feel myself shudder.

 

And I tune them out to focus on your sweet tone.

 

And you lead me along a road of so many stories,

fantasies, a travelogue of fantastic journeys,

and I walk every step. No, I dance. Because they

sprinkle spring in the heels of my feet.

A season of rebirth,

as the lush thoughts grow.

But the glow of the lights

pulls me back - the blinking

of the fruit machine, the reflection

of light in clinking glasses,

the movement, the discord,

 the flowing crowd of human rain.

It sounds strange, but it brings pain,

too much stimulation in the brain.

I'd be better in a computer simulation,

a hologram of my own creation.

 

And I breathe in. Your soft perfume

teases my nose, so delicate, gentle, loving.

A summer glade on a perfect day, I picture

rushing waterfalls and rosemary, a lush green

field, a blanket where we can lay, and wait

for eternity, and never feel time getting in the way.

But then I sense the scent of sweat and musk,

the overbearing aftershave, the waft of Lynx deodorant.

Did you use a whole can, young man? I'm stuttering

over my drink, I can barely

 

Think.

My brain can't seem to

 

link thoughts any

 

more.

 

But I'm drawn on your words.

Little scrawled doodles,

and I wish to be a painting

on your walls, a portrait that you

can look upon with pride

and love in your eyes, like I feel

when I look at you

and see such beautiful skies.

But I'm distracted, the waves

of this ocean are making me seasick.

I'm better company when it's just me

and some soft music.

 

We could escape. If you'd let me take your hand,

we could walk in the green, feel the grass

and the gravity, watch the stars playing with

love in their eyes. We could breathe.

And I'd liken that to a perfect eve.

The sort that makes the world we walk on

weave the air with fairytales.