Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
These are dark days,
I’m not built for a world at war,
We tolerate too much,
We implement fools,
Knowing full well that they are the pigs,
Those who left the Animal Farm*,
Fatted and now feeding on the world.
*Animal Farm" is a satirical allegorical novella by George Orwell, first published in 1945.
Late at night when the sounds of the world quiet,
When the hum of humanity dims and darkness falls,
Clarity and retrospect shine spotlights on my ghosts,
Behind the mask of a day, behind an easy smile, or friendly laugh,
Cold eyes lay, disguising a damage within too broken to mend,
It’s dark inside the well-trod hollows of the mind where only I go,
Deep within the warren of tunnels, my memories lay buried,
They are all I have, both my moral compass and my foundation,
They’re the building blocks of great walls forged as a child,
My outer veneer is smooth, cool and fake, my words are well-trained,
A smile hides countless hidden pains, each a lifelong mortal wound,
So be sure when you step behind the curtain that you understand,
This is not a gameshow, it is not PG, this story was already written,
Long before the performance was viewed.
It’s a just a day like any other for most,
But I feel spent, hollowed out, drained,
Sitting on my couch, the day seems insignificant now,
As Siouxsie sings of Cities in Dust on my turntable,
I notice how a day in the city weighs heavy on me,
The work itself isn’t (always) the problem,
It’s the emotional energy of getting and being there,
It’s taxing, spicy anxiety and doom coping, sap everything,
My brain is constantly in self-defence mode,
By afternoon, when I again breath country air, I’m done,
I trip to and fro across a fine line between tears and sleep,
City and people in large amounts are a big stress that I struggle with,
When did I become this whiny old bitch,
I have good job, and a great team of colleagues,
But I feel eaten up and spat out, and I’m tired of it all,
But there shall be no rest,
Because,
It’s a just a day like any other.
After the senses are confused by a fool’s interactions,
Recovery unveils a sombre, but clear new outlook,
Clarity shows, the best that you could do was not enough,
Wasted energy, thought and emotion, time lost to futility,
Unseen efforts in vain, understanding comes from a life lived,
Some are reminders of truth, in a world fabricated for coping,
Others take, some listen, but we are all just ghosts of our past.
Today I try to seek calm in turbulence,
Find respite during confusion,
Sleep, because the night failed me,
And peace, despite its detractors.
Don’t put your words in my mouth,
I see you, what is your endgame,
Don’t bend my words to fit your purpose,
My expression is my own, know your station,
Don’t assume we’re even on the same platform,
This bullet train takes no passengers.
You put on a daily mask, you nod and smile, and pretend,
Acting like you’re not concurrently drowning in quicksand,
Struggling as it reaches your ears and all sound ceases,
The world, everyone, and everything you know feels silenced,
Your eyes display a panic that your screams cannot express,
Not long after, there is total darkness as your face is covered,
Your throat is choked with filth, and you suffocate silently,
A crushing weight and pressure lay on every part of you,
You can no longer struggle, all you can do is lay motionless,
Enveloped in black emptiness, a nothingness cold and numb,
There’s no comfort, for even in this state you’re pulled downward,
This is managed daily, I’d like to introduce you to depression.
Autumn arrived this morning, cold and desolate,
Frost blankets the garden, as a blue sunny sky laughs above,
I feel my own depression today, it’s heavy, like a weight,
I try to connect without success, I ache in every joint,
Verbal communication seems difficult, I feel gagged,
It’s a work celebration day today, it took months of effort,
And I couldn’t be more emotionless towards it all,
I’m a relic of past days there, my presence feels like irritancy,
I could be more sycophantic, be the yes man they like,
But I no longer have the energy, the place is a necessary cell,
I feel cold inside, like the leafless trees of Autumn,
Why can’t I shake this melancholy, life has no substance,
I reminisced about childhood with a friend yesterday,
And could only remember days of sunshine and simplicity,
Backyard cricket, BBQ, bikes, pets and outside fun,
I’m sure reality was very different, but now, all I feel is empty,
Life today is the numb cycle of existing, it is unrewarding,
Work, pay bills, still be broke, have bad sleep, repeat,
I feel blindfolded, grasping at the warmth of life past,
There’s beauty outside my window, but today it feels frozen,
And the past looks warm through my rose coloured glasses.
Let’s stay here for a while,
Away from the crowds and sounds,
Sit with me in quiet warm sunshine,
Hold my hand, and know I love you,
If I have gone, this is how to find me,
Sit quietly under a fine tree,
Gently close your eyes,
Scrunch your toes in the grass,
Feel the breeze on your face,
Can you smell the garden around you,
Are you hearing the sound of birds,
Take a breath, and smile in the sun,
And I will be right beside you,
We can sit for as long as you like,
Although I can’t hold your hand,
Know I loved you.
I have lost my way,
My identity has been removed,
I feel nothing, my sight is blinded,
I’m numb, my passions lay in ruins,
Time flies at a relentless pace,
Can I exist, until this block passes,
When will art return to these hands,
To again be creator, and not an observer,
Will I dream again the way I once did,
When will I stop being so afraid,
I’m not the imaginer I once was,
I feel dissected and laid out,
Like an insect pinned to a board,
A facsimile of what was once fierce creativity.
Dan Verkys 