My life feels like an empty coffee cup

The buzz has past and only the specs

That will be washed away remain

My eyes stare vacantly as I turn

Page on, page on, page




My mind wandering away from the dictionary definition of the words on the page

Searching for an answer

Some motivation, a surge of energy

Just one urge to move




My sheets are not just where I sleep

They are where I suffer

A place where dreams come true

But nightmares too









Are people running to go someplace?

Boil the kettle.
Look out the window,                                  
To a world full of golden hues.

Red, Orange, Beige,
The crisp sound of leaves crunching,
as you feel the frosty wind hits your face.

The cosy cream cardigan,
you bought at a car boot sale.
It has arrived,
the time of nights in by the fire.
Endless cups of tea and walks in the rain.

The paper white as snow,
Glistens in the light.
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
8.10, 8.12, 8.14, 8.16,
Still the paper sits there as white as snow
The paper is now dazzling in the light.
8.22, my biro pen slowly approaches,
A stroke and its done,
Tick, tock, tick, tock
Now a whole sentence sits on the page
‘Sara got on the 24 bus every Monday at 8am, as if it was second nature.’
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
Now a whole paragraph about Sara has come, screech, abruptly to a stop.



Thoughts swirl around my brain what does Sara do now?
What is next?
What was a story within a matter of minutes becomes notes
It essentially becomes academia on a story not written,
As the years pass, and the essays in the folder grow,
Sara becomes she.
As the terms fly by, the relationships happen or don’t happen,
Friendships begin and end, there are celebrations and commiserations,
Weddings and funerals.
She becomes me,
The words begin flowing out,
The stories plummet onto the page.
What was missing all along was the Sara is not she, she is a little bit me.
She could not be me, until I knew who me is or was.

Your body jerks as you heave yourself out of bed.
The clock reads 5am.
Your phone vibrates,
It’s here.
The countdown is over.

A few long hours,
And caffeinated up,
You arrive,
The sun dances on your skin.

Unpack, freshen up,
Then hit the streets.
You wander aimlessly,
And endlessly.

Eating, sleeping, drinking and waking,
Whenever your body clock requires.
The schedule has been stripped,
Your busy days gone.

You set the rules,
You make the decisions.

Want to people watch with a glass of wine,
Why not?
Want to wander and look at the buildings,
Why not?
Want to sleep in,
Why not?

It’s your trip,
Your story,
Your travels.

The only person you have to depend on is you.