I am sick to my soul. My days are long and drawn out like a thin visceral stream from the gut, twisting through and around the landmarks of my past. They squeeze like a lugubrious python full of instance and remembrance – illuminating in crimson stains the stations of my life. There is a quake in my soul - a quickening of pulse and febrile grasp. I am a tremble, a candle in a draft. I’m sinking into the mire, I can no longer help it and I no longer care.
It is a always a step before and a breath behind me. An endless kaleidoscope of images and patterns. A miasma of waking dreams played out against my pillow in the constant churning of my incessant consciousness. It is there, in the tangle of my sheets, that the turning and returning of my memories break like waves upon my desolate shore. Every embarrassment, every humiliation, is played out in slow motion for my morbid delectation.
I feel so strange. I’ve felt it before, like something, somewhere, is all wrong, but I don’t know what, or where. The feeling is vague, but powerful nonetheless. It happens from time to time. I try to suppress it, but it's difficult. I can't think straight enough - the sensation overwhelms me. I don’t quite understand it. I have a feeling of anxiety but cannot trace its source. It feels like something from the past is occupying the present. It's in my body - in my chest - a sickly feeling - the now is rushing at me incessantly. It’s coming from someplace far away, it’s coming for me. I know it's just a feeling - the result of wonky brain chemistry, but it’s very uncomfortable. It has shadowed me all day - I buried something somewhere and some-one is digging it up. Zombies from the past are trailing me. There are conspiracies whispered beyond my hearing.
There's a break in time - back to front - a jumbling of memory and sensation. There is soup boiling, bubbling where my heart should be. I’ve had it so many times before but I’ll never get used to it – that’s the bitch - I’ll never get used to it. It's insidious and complex, always new and yet familiar. I could quite happily live without it, but I don’t have that choice.