Once to stop the pain
And twice to feel better.

Three times just because you can
And you know there'll be a fourth in half an hour
When you're starting to feel like yourself again
And you just can't take another second of reality.
It's all too noisy, too messy, too complicated and harsh on your eyes
And your heart.
So you do this to make it louder
More complex and brighter than the sun
Because by making it worse at least you're doing something to make it manageable
But you feel your heartbeat in your eyes and all you can see is stars, not even the pretty kind
And High has never felt this low before.
Like a tidal wave pulling away from the shore,
Destined to push forwards eventually and brush the tops of mountains,
You are destined to fall.
So pray for a net that isn't made of powder
And earth that isn't made of steel.

Published by Cat Branagan