Not quite

The time I spend trying to say the right thing, write it down, document it, reveal it, project it, preserve it, spin it out, string it along. This will not produce the goods. I know what to say and then I drift off onto displeasure at background music or at the level of coffee in a cup or my bulging gut or somebody's T-shirt or how cold my left side is. In my blustery world I want to tell you how my heart aches and how much love I have to offer or how I can't function or get it together, how I don't feel as if I have a way in or if I'm doing what I want to do and how I need to be next to another person, to hear another voice, to share a space with someone. Something goads me to think of trying to produce something 'pure'/mythical/out of reach, a thought that matches what you've heard from others. When I can't do that it shuts me down and pushes me out to the nether reaches...I'm dying to say' the hinterland' (!)...and I get lost there trying to pass the time, find togetherness without getting past insurmountable barriers, lose my way in 'the sound of shitty radio' and the grime of messy bedsit floors. My only wish is that I could believe the hype. I could let myself go and not care about self- abuse, lazyness, wallowing, self-harm and all the rest but I can't do that. I can't do things wrong and I can't do them right. Now I have a city to go adrift in but 'that don't make it either'.