Dressing, I slip into my jeans
Brush my hair while looking
At my reflection in the mirror
Old and betrayed
My nerves already frayed
'Too low for zero'
My mind-clock registers
Age was just a number
Until you are really there
I don't mind the graying hair
A new line somewhere
It's the mind, the death of love
Love for my existence
And the bleeding persistence
That ****** dance with forgetfulness
But one thing I can't forget
As I stand dressed and ready to face
The demon of my drudgery
My head starts to throb
I foresee an attitude
It's in his grudging old bearing
I foresee a bad day coming
I try to convince me not to care
Indifference and rude commentary
'I don't like to be seen with you in public'
A joke, a sarcasm said, I smile
But inside my stomach turns to bile
Distancing is the fastest way to salve
Need to escape from the space of the car
It's suffocating space with scenes in halves
One side of the view; the passenger
At home I become a wishful thinker
Independence, freedom from
Shadows, deceit and hollow looks
Hide I do, in sleep and whatever books.
Mental abuse can happen to anybody, even the usually strong. I am not a victim, but a person who can sometimes be at my lowest. I find a car an intimate space which should be respected but is sometimes used as a corner.
