Brain: stop.

I'm not done with today yet -
still a few more hours left - and
I'd rather not end it thinking of
what I could've said, and
what shouldn't have happened, and
what could've happened.

I take the change out of my pocket
and I count
one,
two,
three instances where I could've done something different.
Something could've happened.
Something's not right.

Images and words float through my head like
goldfish in a rounded glass bowl.
Tapping at the glass, I think of
mortality.

I don't like feeling like I'm being controlled by some time machine.
I can't focus on what's going on right now.
I don't understand what's going on.
I feel like I'm in a constant blackout and
I'm unaware and stupid, until suddenly I think,
"Oh, shit!"

And while scrambling out of the sheets laced around my legs
like a spider's ensnaring web
they'll try - someone
will try - to fix everything that had happened
as I fall to the floor,
skin falling apart like mushrooms and leprosy.

And it doesn't matter what could've happened.
It happened.
(I know. I did it).

And everyone who knows,
will think they know me
when they've never even had a conversation with me.

So that'll be my life.
Another
roundabout way of saying,
"Well, fuck me,"
as I press my wrinkly and weak hands to my brow
and wipe the imaginary sweat off.

But I'll continue anyway,
yelling at myself to shut up when no one's around,
pondering spastically on ways to relieve the tension surrounding the back of my neck
and my mind,
being surrounded by idiots who think they're so much more mature than everyone else
when they act exactly the age they are,
forgetting the most important things,
staying the same.

No luck.
Still, I'll continue.

(And maybe it'll get better from here


...maybe...)