May Day

May day, may day. Who’s wrong? It’s you and me, all misplaced. I’m in freefall and fretful. It’s a distress call, a free-for-all, they make one size fit all. On the face of it, it is a catastrophe: when a mind has blown down to a singular point, a semi-permanent full stop, it is the still life which strikes you. The pure pitch of your own shadow in your pupil, like a black hole forming.

No matter what, do not let them know you can’t sleep. They have a whole rainbow of medicines; but they give you more than just tremors. I can’t see myself and I can’t sleep. I’ll have some help, if I may. Lithium? Count me in. Anything to lift the anaesthesia. I miss life terribly. About life... I’m having second thoughts. Excuse me, I can’t sleep. May day.