Bright Idea

There is blood on the curtains. My blood. There is the temptation to wash it off but I keep it there. It is proof. Proof that I still exist. That the blood still moves around my body. That I spill out into the world and touch it.

I twitch at the table. The wave is strong inside me. I fight it down. I close my eyes to stop everything. Literally stop and wait for time to grind by. It is the only way to keep myself going. If I look up and see myself everything will end.

My big black watch counts the minutes. When I cannot control the surge they take it off my wrist and put it in a carrier bag with my clothes. My time keeps on ticking even if my watch waits in the bag. It makes me cry when I have to get up and reclaim my time. I know how painful the minutes to come will be. That there will be a day when closing my eyes will not be enough to stop me.

The day goes. The day always goes no matter if you want it to or not. The TV flickers with clues of better lives. Puzzles I can’t complete. I sit on the floor. I can’t bear the chair. It is dented with the weight of me. It is too much to sit on it and feel how much time I have lost.

I look at the balcony and imagine falling. Another bright idea. Anything just to change this day and the next. But I know the concrete will not remould me. It will not change me or what is. I draw the curtains to stop my hand reaching for the lock.

I stand at the window in darkness. Let the blood stain fall away into another day lost. I keep my feet pressed in the carpet. Anchor myself. Force myself to stay. There is no view. I lost the ability to see any thing but the spillages and fingerprints many years ago.

Maybe when the light comes up I can follow them and find myself. If I find myself then maybe I can wash the blood away.