I’m hardly past it.
(Mid-30s if you’re wondering.)
And in recent years, have kinda felt like I hate this game.
Cos life plus time is evil.
And seems to equal more aches and pains.
And it’s a sad fact and makes me mad that, whatever I do, I can’t escape this change.
It’s like my inner sadist stands back and toasts my decline, all gross and divine.
Grinning as he tastes champagne.
All the while, I just chase insane.
And weather this draught as I pray for rain.
A sad commuter.
Left on the platform cos I lack form.
No longer able to chase this train.
Cos it’s gone, and is now steaming ahead.
So whilst I’m calm on the surface.
Really I’m nervous, like I’m feeling a threat.
Maybe I can rebuild, you know?
Stitch together with needle and thread.
And plug wounds so I stop bleeding all red.
Cos I can’t muddle along.
I’ve gotta get ahead of the reaper.
My thoughts ice cold.
Like I’ve got my head in a freezer.
With vessels that beat temples.
Like a high temperature fever.
Perhaps I’m not old yet.
But my brow is just cold sweat.
Like I’ve got unsettling features.
And I’m feeling an ill chill, like Kiddo in Kill Bill.
Thinking, why is no one checking the heater?
But I digress.
I wish I could calm my mind, you know?
Just spark up a reefer and drift off in the ether.
Then talk riddles like Gollum, cos I’m an odd little creature.
But in tough times I seek stress and ignore weak legs.
Cos there’s no stopping this cheetah.
I mean, I’ll chase anxious thoughts like precious prey.
And think each one’s a keeper.
I know that it’s better to let ’em pass by and be more zen.
Maybe switch my lifestyle and rock vegan.
Then I can watch the sky for enemies like I fly serenity.
Just call me Joss Whedon.
Cos I’ll slay my monsters like Buffy.
Just trust me, when I say I’m clocking these lost demons.
So if they attack, I’ll strike back with a spiked bat.
And crush pretenders like I’m the boss, Negan.
But wonder, have I trapped myself in this setup?
Is this the price I pay?
Is this the cost of freedom?
Cos when I break for a minute I think, should I stop this feeling?
Because despite my fight, my boat’s full of holes and I’m bailing fast.
I know I’m awkward with help.
I kinda hate to ask.
Maybe I can find solace in making art?
Or playing darts?
Yeah, well… scratch that.
I spend too much time indoors as it is.
Gotta get out… see the world with my backpack.
Not make excuses, where all I do is just backtrack.
Cos honestly, there’s more to life than god damn Facebook and snapchat.
So if I’m not the pilot of my destiny, then I should just give my cap back.
Otherwise, life will be one big ‘remember the time when I almost..’
And just play out in flashback.
So do I stick or twist?
Or double down like in Blackjack?
Find Wonderland, London Below and the Upside Down.
The place where the gaps at.
Where weirdos are welcome and it’s all a bit abstract.
That makes sense.
I could probably back that.
There I’d be less nervous.
I’d have purpose.
It’d stop my mind getting ransacked.
So when emotional bombs drop I don’t have to hide from the impact.
I’ll be left silent and intact.
Growing in stature with every step.
A beast amongst petty people, like a giant that’s mismatched.
Then all I have to do is find the life I want is grab hold, and tighten til it snaps.
Which, even if it hurts, and I find I get whiplash.
I’ll know I’m unbreakable.
That, finally, I’m a diamond that hits back.
I’m hardly past it.