365 Poems/31 – Temporary Lapse (Very Rough First Draft)
My mother has to help me
fill out housing benefit forms,
because recently I’ve had this
tendency to forget about everyday,
compulsory things that don’t interest me.
Since encountering so much death
this year, everything else has become
secondary to creativity.
From the fabric of my life, I’ve picked
out formalities like weak fleas.
I’ve shut them all away in deep drawers
for a time when I’m not busy writing
or thinking about writing.
I have to be bargained with to go
to the family home, for dinner, to talk,
to watch a couple of hours of crap telly.
It’s not me putting up this unnatural resistance,
it’s this unavoidable chemical imbalance in my brain.
But, my meds do need reviewing, and my bloods
do need checking and I ought to be taking
those iron supplements and accepting invitations
to duck out of my cave.
But I’m continuously scared that I’ll smack my head
on the way out, that my personal life balance
will tip, crack and never right itself again.
It always seems safer to stay on the inner
side of the door, where I can keep candles burning
and the kettle switched on at the wall.