Archives for posts with tag: anxiety

The fall seemed interminable,

that timeless descent, days and nights disguised,

I plummeted

through familiar air


for a familiar impact; the ground

welcoming me into its arms

like an old friend. Only, this time,

there was no ground but

a body of water

and into its depths I plunged.


The calm,

the tranquillity,

the silence,

embraced me. Under the surface,

free from fear and angst, I wait and watch

all that transpires above,

collecting myself and my thoughts,

changing my perspective and mind-set

through the refracted light,


for the right moment

to break the surface

and enter the fray, once more, changed,

as I should have changed after

all the other times

I had fallen.


They told him,

‘You are more than good enough.’ They said,

You are worthy

of your own acceptance’.┬áBelief in those words

sated him, and his vacant heart, but

it lay in wait, that


skittish horse, invisible, universal,

always walking

in front of him, reins tied

to ropes

to his stomach, knots loose, dictated by

his heart, connected

to that skittish horse.


Time passes, his heart filled,

dreams and reality

poured in, a concoction unheard of,



real; the change sent unguarded vibrations

down the line, it bolted, that mare,

and those ropes stretched taut,

those knots tightened, pulling him

through lives and places,

hearts and minds,

ruination to him.


Yet whispers of words calmed it,

stopped it,

and the hands of those words

untied those knots, as he struggled

to stand and survey

the wreckage in his wake.

Heartbreak awaiting, guilt

abiding, he turns and witnesses

the intangible carnage, defeated utterly.


They told him,

‘You are more than good enough.’ They said, ‘

You are worthy

of your own acceptance.’


They lied.


He swims reds seas, drowning,

if he could; his lungs fill

but not enough, never enough,

to release him. See-thru green

islands wait, false idols,

skewed views, unreality, the only place

he survives.


Pebbles litter the shore,

he harbours them, protection from the light

and the dark, keeps

them close, guards them,

illusive saviours untying his knots,

not weighing him down,

stopping his flight so high

and burning upon re-entry.


The ground is hard

and unforgiving. He hits it

with dawn and dusk

and lays there

until he can swim




the sun is dying and I’m

waiting to hear

from you,

waiting for words

to make everything

more OK

than it has


drinking to drown

the fear,

smoking to choke

the anxiety,

writing to alleviate

the angst: a modern


because I can’t think

of any other



%d bloggers like this: