My line of country’s now an island.
My days a series of patterns woven into weeks
Wearing me down to the bear threads
Entwined into a cosy existence
That blankets me from the world outside,
Hiding from expressions
That come at me like trains of thought.
A knock on the door is like a punch to the stomach,
An invitation a custodial sentence,
A smile aggressive towards my self esteem.
While I watch them going about
Never having time to themselves.
While I remain here,
With all the time in the world
Having nothing to do with it.
I once thought myself a genius,
Before accepting the notion I was anything but,
Deluding myself that I was wise,
Although it wasn’t to anyone’s knowledge,
Determined to think myself as talented,
Before realising I wasn’t even skilled,
Reassuring myself with the fact I was intelligent,
Which turned out be a stupid fiction,
Happy to think myself as interesting,
Until I was aware that no-one listened,
Merely content to think myself ordinary-
Though I suspect I’m not even that.
You’d think time would drag when you’ve nothing to do.
But it tends to fly all the more,
Reminding you of how little you’ve got-
How little you’ve done.
You wait and wait for something to happen,
Then when it does you’re aren’t ready,
Letting it run by you-
While you sit it out.