Running – something I can’t see,
I feel it chase, envelope me.
Falling now, then I’m down,
it comes back.
Fill it with something or other,
Shove it down like bread and butter,
Chase the pain with a shot of Vodka,
It comes back round, and so why bother?
Bottle up, shut it up, push it down, hide away.
Cut it out, butt it out, smoke it up, buy today.
Hoard it quick, take a sip, roll around in someone’s bed.
Anything, anything, do anything – escape your head.
I run around this mouse contraption, relying on this mad distraction.
A song and dance it doesn’t cease, so I can pretend that I’m at peace. Continue reading