Here

-
I don't want to be here,
My mind is elsewhere 
My mind is where I once was
My mind is where I am to be 
My mind doesn't rest
I failed the test
This is not easy to digest
This in-between place
This space I occupy
Not understanding why.
I'm here
That's all I am for now,
Waiting for the next phase to begin,
Move from here 
to somewhere I've already been.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Monday, April 21, 2025

-
  Monday, April 21, 2025 Monday. I went after breakfast this morning. I kept waking up last night. I'm anxious about everything. I want to do so much and I want to do nothing at the same time. I'm avoiding things. I've always avoided things. This morning I found out that someone I once knew died several years ago. It's strange this weight of missing someone. I've always met people who I automatically wanted to be around. This attraction is not a sexual attraction but something more meaningful. I don't know how it works. I don't know why the people I clinge to are the people that I want to be around... I do know now that my connection with certain people is from me being Autistic. I'm not good at communicating with people. I don't randomly message people too often. There have been people who I wish I had talked to more. There's people that I wish I could spend time with again. Some of these people are now dead.  I hate being alone most of the time...
Read more

A Short Story

-
The sound of a fly buzzing in my ear wakes me and, for a moment, I wonder if it was merely a dream. Those moments distorted are more like dreams. My eyes open to the boy standing over me: his eyes wide as if he is waiting for me to wake. The fan rotates just enough to make noise, the faucet in the bathroom drips in alternating patterns, and the rain outside blends with these to create a symphony of torture. I look around the room, standing slowly as to avoid a headache; I wonder what waits for me in death. The boy, a mere pawn in this story, walks toward the door without speaking a word. I assume that he has no need to speak, or that he cannot speak. He, Andrew as I have decided to call him, walks through the door into the wet cold. I follow Andrew: what else do I have to do? We walk down the steps toward a bus, a long grey bus, as a man in a cowboy hat steps down. He has a grin that makes me shudder and a walk that makes me wonder about what he’s been through. The tall man w...
Read more