January

Sirens echo around the cold city
The grimy streets show no pity
Frosted lamps burn amber
Heartbeats pulse, mind wanders
Away, anywhere but here

Ashen face
Let me out of this place
All I dream of is death
All I dream of is falling
This life ever stalling

My shadow follows me wherever I go
Wrap it around like an icy cloak
Numb the feelings, numb the vision
Chemical suppression of past discretion

Don't ever think you've won
Cos that's when you're done
Your shadow will strike
You can't hide from the fight
It's part of you, always will be
Melded together, sings so sweetly

Like a hand run over a stubbled face
Morning brings pain, unbidden tears
Eat your cereal, choke back the fear
Tomorrow, tomorrow will be better
But tomorrow never comes

I've got a dream inside
Burns like fire and ice
Sweet choking tar
Pulsing scar
Like a supernova held in my chest
Let it out and put it to the test

I wanna be who I could be
Someone who used to be
Follow me and i'll set it free
Let's find another way to dream
Sick of suppressing this long held scream

Dreams

I dream of falling. They may be idle thoughts now, merely horrific daydreams, but one solid minute of conviction and they could become reality.

It was some time past four am on a cold and blustery late October night as I lay in bed, unable to get comfortable, alternately too hot and too cold. I'd gone to visit my father for the weekend, out at his place on the edge of the Mendips, overlooking the cathedral town of Wells.

I'd fake-grinned and joked my way through a day of chit-chat and being around people that expected you to be a certain way, people that didn't want to know the truth. I hated myself for it, the way it was automatic now.

Asked how I was, I would reflexively grin and crack some bad joke. I used to do it when I was sixteen and trying to woo girls by being self-deprecating and ironic. It actually worked for that purpose back then. Now at twenty-six, as a screen to hide my true self, it just drained me and left me horribly depressed. One lunchtime of it left me hating myself, a whole weekend of it was almost unbearable and left me completely exhausted for the next week. I couldn't tell my father, or he wouldn't listen, to my true feelings. 

I've never slept well away from my own bed. I like it dead quiet and dark when trying to get to sleep, I like my bed and my sheets and my place. Even with those present, half the time my mind doesn't co-operate, as it decides that now is the perfect time to invent new worlds and realities inside its confines.

So I’m lying there, the wind howling and crashing against the house, when the thought pops into my head. You could jump off that cliff right now. You could get dressed against the biting wind, put on your boots, go outside, walk to the patio overlooking the valley, and jump. Nobody would be able to stop you.

Earlier I called these thoughts horrific daydreams, except they're not. Some part of my mind knows they should be that, but the idea is actually rather pleasing. I wouldn't even have to walk the miles along the Avon Gorge from my flat, climb up the steep cliffs and do it from there like I’d planned. I could walk out of the front door now, and end it right now. Not even five minutes and it would be over.

These thoughts aren't so laid out as this of course. Do I leave a suicide note? Simply: “I'm sorry dad.” No, that wouldn't do, would have to be three, one each for my mother, father and brother. Although leaving three seems a little conceited too.

Then come the doubts. What if I fuck it up? The cliff is high, but not perfectly vertical, the slope below covered in scrubby ash trees and dying bracken. What if they arrested my fall enough and I ended up only breaking a leg, or worse, snapping my neck but remaining alive. Paralysis, being trapped inside my mind, would truly be a fate worse than death.

But then what of life? Life hardly seems worth living right now. Still, I am alive, though every waking hour is only lived to distract myself from my own inner thoughts.

And yet, there is a spark of hope. A sputtering, pathetic imitation of a flame, only giving off enough light to bring the shadows into greater contrast. But maybe it's enough. Maybe tomorrow won't suck quite so much. I want to see another sunrise. I want to see what my life could turn out to be if it started going right.

I give up thinking and roll over, drawing the covers around my body as sleep finally claims me.

I dream of falling. Flying, for a few brief moments, feeling weightless, free. Free from myself, and free from this world. I look up at the stars, but I can't reach them. Maybe if I jump high enough, they will come to me.