It’s started to rain again. We were confined the last time the rains came and here they come again consistent as the tides. And we’re still in our cages.

Months behind us lay littered with tar and broken bottles, empty now when before they were so full. I’m starting to get sick of the taste now and I’m trying to quit. Oh honey, I promise you I’m trying so fucking hard to quit.

But it’s started to rain again. The future is uncertain and I’m trapped here until further notice. Though I have noticed a hole in the corner, and it looks like it might just be big enough

For me to fall through

Would you want to kiss me? If you saw me in a bar? I’m good at bad decisions, and I think I’ve made them all.

Would you want to dance with me? Before the night drew to a close? There’s money in the jukebox, I can last ‘til final call

I wonder if you’d feel the same after. When the haze of a late night lifts. Demons laid bare decorated with scars. Secrets that can’t be kept, and anger that lingers.

So I’ll go home with myself tonight. Take a nightcap on my own. Rest my head and try to sleep.

Would you want to love me? Knowing what you know? They say there’s someone out there for everyone, but I can’t see it being so.

One night you went to your final house party. One last night with disposable cups and bodies finding space where they can, on floors, inside each other.

One morning you had your last cigarette. You told yourself you were an adult now and they were nothing more than a holdover from walking home at 5am barely lucid.

One evening you said goodbye to your Grandmother. She’d wanted to see the beach one last time. You knew she didn’t have long left, but she was so full of life when you hugged her and said goodnight.

And one night, beneath a weeping moon, on the deck we shared, we pressed our lips together one last time.

Shrinking as though from age I can feel fishhooks in my back, not anchored but instead tied to the end of their strings are all the little burdens and mistakes I never took the time to shake.

Each time I think I’m used to the weight another hook embeds itself and I have to adjust everything again. My gait changes and I can’t get comfortable in my own bed anymore.

Every night the moment I fall asleep slips later and later, though it’s less that I’m falling and more that I’m fighting, dragging myself towards any scraps of peace I can find.

When I was younger I spent so much time worrying about the fishhooks that I didn’t look down. Didn’t realise the ground I was walking on was getting softer and softer. Wet tar beneath my feet. And now I’m worried what happens when I shrink further, when the weights tied to the hooks make contact with the floor.

One of these days those weights will hit the ground, and I’m terrified I’ll get pulled under.

Shrinking as though from age I can feel fishhooks in my back, not anchored but instead tied to the end of their strings are all the little burdens and mistakes I never took the time to shake.

Each time I think I’m used to the weight another hook embeds itself and I have to adjust everything again. My gait changes and I can’t get comfortable in my own bed anymore.

Every night the moment I fall asleep slips later and later, though it’s less that I’m falling and more that I’m fighting, dragging myself towards any scraps of peace I can find.

When I was younger I spent so much time worrying about the fishhooks that I didn’t look down. Didn’t realise the ground I was walking on was getting softer and softer. Wet tar beneath my feet. And now I’m worried what happens when I shrink further, when the weights tied to the hooks make contact with the floor.

One of these days those weights will hit the ground, and I’m terrified I’ll get pulled under.

Shrinking as though from age I can feel fishhooks in my back, not anchored but instead tied to the end of their strings are all the little burdens and mistakes I never took the time to shake.

Each time I think I’m used to the weight another hook embeds itself and I have to adjust everything again. My gait changes and I can’t get comfortable in my own bed anymore.

Every night the moment I fall asleep slips later and later, though it’s less that I’m falling and more that I’m fighting, dragging myself towards any scraps of peace I can find.

When I was younger I spent so much time worrying about the fishhooks that I didn’t look down. Didn’t realise the ground I was walking on was getting softer and softer. Wet tar beneath my feet. And now I’m worried what happens when I shrink further, when the weights tied to the hooks make contact with the floor.

One of these days those weights will hit the ground, and I’m terrified I’ll get pulled under.

As I lower myself into the bath I can tell I’ve run it too hot again. I don’t stop though, the heat is abrasive against the tender parts of my body but even as my skin turns red I realise that it’s too late to back out now.

Half an hour passes and it’s starting to get cold. The bottle of wine I left on the side is empty and there are goosebumps forming inside my thighs. I’m clean now, but the water I lie in isn’t.

Those are the parts I like. In between I’m left with my thoughts but devoid of distractions. The bottle helped but it’s empty now. So I get out. I dry myself and look down at the water before I pull the plug. I can only hope this time I stay clean.