Am I delirious
To think you'll ever come back?
It's been far too long
And I know that
You've long forgotten me now
But a part of me still hangs on
To the memory of you
And that makes it almost impossible
To forget you too

I am up at night
sending my prayers to anonymous strangers
because maybe they have the answers
maybe not the ones I want, but the ones I need
there is something beautiful about them
human blank canvases
potential for beauty
comedy or interest
their nameless faces
playing on the projector of my mind’s eye
the closest I have come to finding God

It's like tripping, but only before you hit the ground.
Like being woken up,
With a faceful of cold water, from a lovely dream.
Like seeing a flashing light behind you while driving.
Like when you got that test back.

The reaching one doesn't feel this moment,
This tearing of reality.
Like you tore the whole world away and place a new one in my hands.

This new microworld,
Like starting a new book,
Takes time to enjoy.

How do you expect me to read a new book,
When i'm so deep into another?
Let me get to a stopping point.

It pierces my heart
And a sharp pain
      Erupts
As memories forgotten
      Emerge
And I realise it still hurts
That feeling meant
I still cared
Buried regrets
      Surfaced
Only to be haunted
By moments
That are too late to fix

while others dream of
getting an education
finding a job
getting a husband
buying a house
choosing curtains
washing sheets
doing chores
and shopping groceries for the week at the local supermarket
going out with the girls for a night out at some nice pub
having a baby
changing diapers
teaching your kid to talk and read
living the dream
cooking pies for pastry contests
growing old and becoming
a nanny
playing bingo in the local club
and driving a nice car
and not having troublesome teenagers
and dying peacefully
and having a fairly nice funeral
and a nice piece of land in the local cemetery,
I dream of
staying up until 4 a.m.
the only light coming from my
laptop screen
killing characters while pressing
keyboard buttons
drinking wine
and smoking rolled
cigarettes
in a cramped apartment
in some unknown city
a room
stuffed with art
and scattered manuscripts
all over the floor
caffeine nights
and starving my body
but feeding my mind
and freeing my soul
I don't dream of getting married
but of getting my characters together and
then drifting them apart
I don't dream of having children
but of writing children who
grab the opportunity and live
a fascinating life
I don't dream of living
I dream of creating lives
and deaths
and dreams
and love
I don't dream of dying an old lady
I dream of immortalising myself
in creating fictional lives

I'm more than depressed and time is slipping through my fingers like sand