Just sometimes, when the world is closing in -
and nothing really makes much sense at all -
the moments when the room begins to spin -
the times when you erect your best brick wall
to hide behind - are my words making sense?
I doubt it. Nothing else is. Yes, I said.
I'm torn between the past and future tense -
but mostly, I just want to stay in bed.
The future is what I must always fear.
The past is mine to analyse - dissect.
I'll lose whatever I dare to hold dear.
I feel disposable. Eject - reject.
I care for people who don't value me.
Is this the way my life will always be?