It is too easy

It is too easy

To feel the guilt

Of being here.

For getting out of bed

Every morning

Wishing I was strong enough

To say enough is enough

Waiting for the sun to shine

So I can shout until

My eyes bleed

My throat hurts.

I can feel as bad as I look

Under floodlights,

When they are out

The ghosts whirl in shadows

Voices whisper in rhyme

Not always

But most of the time.

I feel guilty

For trying to write them down.

Stealing sordid stories from

The dirtiest part of me,

The secret life.

Hot breath and ragged sobs

Torn bedclothes

Sweat-soaked sheets

Wrapped in a bundle

Thrown in a heap

Waiting for the money to come in

When too much is going out.

Remembering

When you said, “It will be alright.”

No, it won’t

“We will get there.”

Where?

I’m still waiting

As the sodium fizzes

In the light outside the window.

It would be easy

To believe

The devil sits outside

Waiting for capitulation.

There is a certain kind of madness

Involved in fighting

When the result is known.

Even the whisky tastes sour

On an empty stomach

Laid bare

By the cost of living crisis.

In hospitals

They chain

Alcohol-based hand wash

Bottles to the wall.

There is desperation everywhere

Even the nurses

Dress like nuns

To confuse the newly dying.

I remain,

Wishing for nothing

As nothing good

Has ever come of it

Waiting for god knows what

To carry me off

Before I break free

And take matters into

My own hands.