A message to my former self,
In all your grief and a-g-o-n-y
That swallows you up,
You absolute stick in the mud.
Remember as time crashes,
no slashes,
no passes
you by
you are growing and shrinking in size -
not in some fluid motion,
but a movement filled with motion sickness.

The room is on fire
and you are in it.
I promise you
the room will not stop being on and
fanning while fannying about
is not helping
in the situation.  

But you can learn to
revel in its burning.
Cauterising your wounds,
so you can finally stop
licking them.

A room is not a home -
remember a room has a door and
you can leave it at will.

No one is holding you hostage.