I’m nowhere near the edge of anything –

I’m not staring into the abyss, not dangling

from the precipice, perilously close to

letting go. I’m not starting the day with

a bottle of wine and rounding off the

evening with a handful of diazepam,

I’m not seducing a girl at work just

to prove I can. I’m not hurting myself

for something to do, I don’t even

say anything without first

thinking it through.

 

But something’s not quite right.

Something’s missing, absent. It’s

like I’m recovering from a

circumstance-transplant, an

operation to replace my life with

someone else’s. I feel like

Superman under a red sun.

I feel like I’m speaking in

tongues that no-one

else understands.

 

I only feel the pressure

of my own demands,

water pressing against

the banks of a lake.

 

When one goes and

is not equal to the

task, one makes

a mistake.