I’m happy. I’m sad.
I’m reading. I’m thinking.
I’m drinking. One more.
Last one. I’m dancing.
I’m looking at the sunset; at your face.
I’m crying. I’m walking.
I’m screaming. I’m scared.
There’s a cat. There’s a knock on my window.
I’m awake. My hands are shaking.
My hands are shaking.
My hands are shaking.
Your arms are around me.
I’m asleep.
A childish sense of desolation, like a kid who’s left out of an adult conversation. A kid whose communications are controlled by a higher authority. “Shh… don’t ask questions.” “Don’t interrupt. He’s working. Let him concentrate.” “Don’t ask questions. Ask for permission before you speak.”
Aimless and excluded. I did not know what to do. The helpless desolation came over me. I fumbled nervously as I dressed to step out.
(Inspired by The Blind Man, DH Lawrence)
