Every message begins with “I’m sorry”
because I know I’ve been bad
And I’ve let everyone down
But it’s far too late now to fix it.
(I’m not trying to fix you.
Maybe I don’t think you’re broken –
Maybe I just want to treat the bruises that I make
And write up case notes on your flaws.)
So I’ll try something else.
I’ll give up trying to make it perfect
And let whatever happens, happen.
Just as long as it happens, right?
(I don’t want big gestures,
I just want everything inside your mind.
You’ve opened up to me more than you realise
And I just want to see you again.)
I want to talk to everyone
But they all talk at once
And I can’t figure out how I’m meant to
Make order out of such complete chaos.
I want to be here and there
Both at once, but I can’t.
I just crack and break up
And I have no idea where my thoughts are.
I have no time for anything
Except the inertia caused by panic,
When I have all the time in the world,
But I can’t control it.
Trying to be too many selves at once
For everyone but me.
It’s killing me
But I continue doing it to myself.
The self-censorship of the anxious.
Every single word prefaced with
‘This is not about you, this is not about you’
Until I’m blue in the face.
(Or until it is about you,
But I don’t ever tell you.
You were my spark
And I need you to catch fire.)
I feel like I’m dwindling.
And if I made myself shrink
Until I disappeared entirely
Would you even notice?
Slowly being worn out,
Like a book
With a broken spine
And I’m trying to walk it off.