It’s crawling up the drain pipe,
It’s crawling in your bed,
It’s coming back to remind you
Of everything you said.
It’s standing by the broken lamp
That used to light your way,
It’s filling in the empty spaces
When you’ve nothing left to say.
It’s fogging up the window,
So close you cannot breathe,
It’s watching you undress,
It’s watching you retreat-
Into your habits,
Into your sheets,
It’s waking you up
When you’re trying to sleep.
Into your whiskey,
Into your tea,
It’s spiking your food,
It’s all you can see.
It’s the rat inside the wedding cake,
It’s the rain on a perfect day,
It’s the wind that rattles everything,
Every cymbal in your brain.
It’s coming from the blind side,
It’s arriving without warning,
It’s brave and dark in the moonlight,
It’s small and fearful in the morning.
It’s Muhammed in the headlines,
It’s Jesus on the cross,
It’s the bias in the history books,
It’s the meaning that got lost.
It’s playing on your heartstrings,
A song you cannot sing,
A broken piece you cannot fix,
The calm the pills don’t bring.
Into your pockets,
Into your blood,
It’s getting to you
Much more than it should.
Into your mirror,
Into the screen,
All that you feel, all that you see
Are ever-decreasing spirals
And absent routine;
It’s pacing the halls,
It muffles your scream,
It’s holding your tongue,
It’s the mould in the crumb,
It’s the secret you keep from everyone.
It’s the reason why you stay inside,
Why walking the street,
Why leaving the house
Is like turning the tide.
It’s the jet-lag gloom
It’s the familiar ache
That weighs you down
Every time you wake.
It’s crawling up the phantom limb,
It’s the corpses in the sea,
It’s the debris that covers everything,
This constant anxiety.
This is a spoken word piece I am currently working on.
C