My Day(s)

Failed whistles,

Birmingham Sunday

And humidity breed

Disillusionment in the best of us.

Can you feel the crackling frustration emanating from my chest?

Can you feel the punch,

The swung fist,

Aimed at your head

In my head?

Do you feel how fake this all is?

Or is it

Just fake for me?

I hadn’t thought of that till now.

Maybe it’s just me.

Again.

But it was fun to sing today.

That was the highlight of the day –

Singing “Before He Cheats”

In my real voice –

It’s always good to speak

From my heart

And not from my heart>head>lips

That’s exactly why

It’s good to be high:

To get to talk

And not speak.

The soundtrack of 300,

Message for the Queen,

Fits my heart –

Strangled yodels

Why?

I know why.

Again.

Always again.

“Never again.”

Of course again.

And again.

And again.

What’s the point?

I know there is one. A good one.

I feel it in myself.

Life is preparation?

No.

It’s a depressing joke.

It’s a diorama

Where the grass tells the tree

I’m happy

And the tree blushes

With delight.

Darkness and solitude cloud my judgement;

Should I celebrate

Introversion to Extroversion

Or feel entirely keenly

The depression that depresses me?

Suddenly I hear

A happy word

Vocabulary reminiscent of childhood

And everything is

Uncontrollably,

Excitingly,

Filled-with-life-edly

Amazing

And exciting

And beautiful again.

Good.

I could live for that.

I could live for the breathtaking peaks.

And the love.

And the happiness.

I do live for it.

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