Postman's Park

The weight is wearing on me.

Expectations and deadlines. Unbendable. Non-negotiable.

Emotional eating and no time to work it out. No time. My body feels soft, heavy, hungry all the time.

Blue lights and whispered conversations. Flashes of silver cradles, open graves and fists wrapped in blood. Swallowed whole by demons being exorcised, red wine and loud laughter. Haunted dreams.

There is darkness and frozen air, stale smoke and forgotten longing. Thoughts slip through the cracks like thieves, planting themselves firmly in my mind, my heart.

It’s all coming to the surface and pouring out of my eyes, my mouth. As simple as a man’s white t-shirt. As complex as a woman’s heart.
And all the while….the latest story. The newest cast. Backstabbing whispers and thinly veiled contempt. The odd glimmer of hope, of interest, and then it all feels washed away, in a sea of copy, voicers and black coffee.

I’ve simply got to get a grip.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Well I to but I think the collection should acquire more info then it has.
February 8, 2010 at 1:53 PM
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