Finding new ways to ruin
Seems to be my primary concern these days.
I’m striving to be more like me —
I feel. Then I feel, and I’m unable to love anymore (or well enough).
When you’re scared of living and everything,
It’s not as easy to let go as some people say.
Sometimes, letting go takes you places you don’t want to go.
A strange country without a guide,
Where food and language is unrecognisable,
Getting fleeced by a taxi driver’s concern for profit.
Someone once said: ‘there’s a better world out there’ — but I haven’t seen it yet.
That’s why I spend so much time here
(Beneath the shadow of the high ideal),
Subsuming myself in everything I do;
Moderation just seems an awful way of living —
If you’re going to fail, fail well.
And when the sun does come, it beats like time,
Dries and sterilises everything it gazes on.
My heart is furrowed and parched,
My senses seared and conspire against me.
All I seem to do is pick myself up in circles before I fall —
It’s about the only thing I’m good for.
© 2017 Occasional Dreams