Hunted

A mirror, a memory Swallowing sedatives, with drinks made of caffeine My recollection is forced into silence From social disproval and cultural indifference And I patter between the moments, As if lava lines the floor I’m triple checking the stoves of And I’m double locking the door And I’m scrubbing my skin with soap, until it bleeds But it’s never quite clean And I wonder if I’ll make it Even a few hours more There’s a hunter at the window And he’s banging at the door Watching my actions, Like I’m on a tv Connected the dots between the choices I make And it doesn’t hurt me, or tare me to pieces I’m left with a humming, mumbling pain And it feels as though you’re watching, Making notes in the corner of the room And I feel you in the spaces I write Silently forming every tune SPOKEN: Today I float From moment to memory, I am sat in my kitchen, Then my lower school I am playing guitar, then I am sobbing on a bed And my isolation morphs into different genres of terror, Coz this flat is my flat, until it isn’t This bed is my bed, until it isn’t This life is my life, until it isn’t The walls are closing in, My hands warp and change from mine to his There isn’t enough air There is too much air Am I spiralling? I am spiralling Circling my own sanity My disorder tells me I am dying, She crawls through my ears with tundrels of aggression She slips down my throat into my hands Runs fingers over scars And ask questions I beg her not too The internet tells me to reconnect with nature, To walk in a field, To plan things and watch them grow I live in a city, surrounded by people Metal boxes and grime I have no money; no will power and no routine I am here, 18th of march, And then I’m 18? I’m 14,16,12? I am no where I explore my room from the corner near the wardrobe Watching myself sat hollow on the bed Bed I am 9 and I am crying, I’m 17, I’m fucking I’m 14 I’m cutting I am 21 21, it’s 2020 I am here. Here I am Wondering through a street in the Netherlands The cobblestones are uneven, the air smells cleaner than back home I make eye contact with a man I’m 11 now, or 12? I am sat in a classroom I pinch the broken skin on my fingernails, He comes up behind me I am at a gig, the music’s too loud I can’t see the exit I feel heat enter my cheast My head feels hollow, too many people I am sat in the back of a car; I watch the raindrops on the window And make competitions of which falls the fastest I am lying on a bed, the room smells damp There is a CD playing harry potter, and I hear him snoring I am back on my own bed again She is drawing circles on the palm of my hand She’s calling me, asking me to come back