‘My Thoughts Were So Loud, I Couldn’t Hear My Mouth’

 

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I can’t bear to hear you sleep. Sniffle snaffle in too deep. All sodden sobs & bare arsed denial. As you dissolve, I get diluted. You can turn away as much as you want. You will only end up where you started. All fucked up & lonely. Your decision to move & move on. It seems that you’re stood stock still. Stock fucking still. Still sat in the shadow of the shit created for you. A legacy you will never allow yourself to leave. And why? Because it keeps you going. Seems to keep you upright. One day, you will end up choking on all the words you never said. And I won’t be there to slap you on the back.

Oh, look at you. All sniffling & snotty. All capable of not sharing, yet easily able to accuse. Then all turned away. All rolled up quilted fuck all. When you’re lay down, you’re not that fucking tall.

Sweet Jesus, it’s cold. All non invitation disregarding conversation & a hacking cough of suffering. Sit up straight & machinate on a purpose for being yourself. Decide delicately what tomorrow offers that today lacks. Then answer me. Just answer me. Answer me back. At the very least, whisper. Ship shape shallying defies a logic borne from truth. A raised voice doesn’t have to lead to a raised hand. You can hold an open hand easier than you can a fist.

Drama. We create our own, from the drama created for us. A simple fucking nothing becomes more than we ever could possibly deal with. Never had the chance to even attempt change.

Stained evening, soaked morning. On salty afternoons, tears drip drop onto evening, all grown up nonsense that’s tucked up & put away til later.

The thing is, when is later?

Does later ever occur? Do we sit haunched as we await it’s cockeyed shrill clarion call? Or do we all just accept the anger it allows us to portray? Only we decide, because we are us.

That’s it. You sleep. Don’t bother sharing your fears. To be honest, I doubt you ever will. Or even can.

And that’s not very clever is it? That will learn you. Neither a lender nor a borrower be. Keep it hidden. Keep your cards close to your chest. & your chest close to your cards.

I will remember every word you spat out. Every syllable & every mispronounced noun. Verbally incontinent & lacking the temptation to tell the truth, you will end up telling your version of my truth to yourself.

& the detail will be lost, in a fog of me.

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