One from a bit back – the endless frustration of cfs…
I don’t know who I am and I just want to scream. I want to scream at stillness, shatter through this grey existence like breaking walls of glass into a million glinting shards. I search and wail and am lost in the years of immobility, in the endless cotton wool of slowed thoughts and rotting futures.
I gather hatred and frustration and imagine daggers ripping jagged edges in enclosing walls. I kick and punch and taste blood on my hands as I break those walls to rubble, daylight blinding my dull eyes and the excitement of wind on my sallow skin. All I want is meaning, all I want is purpose, all I want is self. I scream the words and hear the crash of borders and smell the dust in the air as I spring and run, leap over rubble, heading away, heading to something, anything, anywhere.
On the sofa, a tear pools silently from under one eyelid and slowly makes tracks down my cheek.