29/11/2016 A piece about a hunger for something different from myself and irritation at failing to produce
I want to open a new chapter of myself.
This story I am telling
is very circular,
I feel like I am spinning in circles.
Maybe I keep telling myself it's a new day
but in fact
it's just history repeating.
There is this unscratchable itch
inside my head.
Behind my eyes my brain squirms,
like a toddler in bed
it tosses and turns.
I am hungry for expression,
for newness, originality,
and it must be mine,
all my own and no-one else's.
...but what I have is a circular path,
a stone-walled passage,
constantly leading me back here
to this grey matter,
indistinguishable from every other part
of this fucking merry-go-round.