there was never a time quite like this.
jamie was walking down an alley way, blind.
it was night time, pitch black,
right through her mind.
not a soul in sight.
walking slow,
the only sound a dull foot fall.
fingers, trailing against the wall
feel crumbling bricks, damp from the rain
that came tumbling down for days on end.
and then she hears that rustle again;
a leaf, bird, it's all the same,
when the bright lights have left you alone
and no, she's not frightened at all.
i wish i'd known.
you could call her foolish
for coming down here,
but the night time dark is almost a relief.
dusk had been hanging around her for years,
like a day not sure if it should come or go,
all purple-blue-brown tones of grey,
as if the colours had faded, seeped away.
jamie'd been walking with her head in a cloud:
not a cloud of dreams,
i'm talking about a head gone numb, that's leaking out,
like swelling up to the air around,
and drags in slow motion like liquid lead,
filtering anything anyone said.
jamie was never one to complain,
but she could feel her throat was tight again.
sometimes that was all she could feel,
like it pulled on strings, her whole body in,
shoulders, drawn right up to protect,
as if somewhere outside could be lurking a threat,
and you never know who'll hurt you next.
they call it anxiety but that doesn't help.
"just pull it together, yeah, sort yourself out",
she'd tell herself, through a dried-out mouth.
and sometimes it worked,
and she'd gaze at the trees and look at the birds,
from her favorite seat on her balcony.
but going out was hard.
and jamie had been trying her best:
never off sick,
never missed a shift.
been working this cafe like mechanical slick:
details, meticulous.
quick hands, quiet smile, rigorous.
but somewhere, down in the depths of the cloud,
jamie was sure someone would find out,
that she hadn't tried quite hard enough,
that she'd done something wrong,
and the ground beneath that was holding her up
would rumble and shake her stumbling down.
"don't be silly, everything's fine".
fuck it, she didn't even want this job,
been trying for years to think something else up.
and each idea would look great at first:
museum, gallery, books, a course.
and she'd plan it all out: meticulous.
but then doubts would come in bouts and bursts:
"what if people think you’re ridiclous?
you'll fail and that'll be much worse".
and the plans'd be dropped like broken eggs.
a cloud not like dreams, but like lead.
a dusk that made time drag its legs.
and time off was worse than anything else,
seconds ticking, one by one,
slicing up the quiet room:
"what are you going do?"
mind blank, throat tight, hands damp,
and slowly, dusk turned into night.
jamie was walking down an alleyway, blind.
and you really shouldn't walk alone at night,
when there's not even moonlight to keep you right.
just fingertips along the wall,
the muffled echoes of your own foot fall.
and you're not even sure why you came this way,
if it'll really take you home at all.
but jamie didn't even care that much.
mumbled to herself and stumbled on.
fumbled in a pocket for chewing gum.
couldn't find it.
stopped still.
no hurry tonight,
got time to kill.
jamie was walking down an alley way, blind.
it was night time, pitch black,
right through her mind.
not a soul in sight.
walking slow,
the only sound a dull foot fall.
fingers, trailing against the wall
feel crumbling bricks, damp from the rain
that came tumbling down for days on end.
and then she hears that rustle again;
a leaf, bird, it's all the same,
when the bright lights have left you alone
and no, she's not frightened at all.
i wish i'd known.
you could call her foolish
for coming down here,
but the night time dark is almost a relief.
dusk had been hanging around her for years,
like a day not sure if it should come or go,
all purple-blue-brown tones of grey,
as if the colours had faded, seeped away.
jamie'd been walking with her head in a cloud:
not a cloud of dreams,
i'm talking about a head gone numb, that's leaking out,
like swelling up to the air around,
and drags in slow motion like liquid lead,
filtering anything anyone said.
jamie was never one to complain,
but she could feel her throat was tight again.
sometimes that was all she could feel,
like it pulled on strings, her whole body in,
shoulders, drawn right up to protect,
as if somewhere outside could be lurking a threat,
and you never know who'll hurt you next.
they call it anxiety but that doesn't help.
"just pull it together, yeah, sort yourself out",
she'd tell herself, through a dried-out mouth.
and sometimes it worked,
and she'd gaze at the trees and look at the birds,
from her favorite seat on her balcony.
but going out was hard.
and jamie had been trying her best:
never off sick,
never missed a shift.
been working this cafe like mechanical slick:
details, meticulous.
quick hands, quiet smile, rigorous.
but somewhere, down in the depths of the cloud,
jamie was sure someone would find out,
that she hadn't tried quite hard enough,
that she'd done something wrong,
and the ground beneath that was holding her up
would rumble and shake her stumbling down.
"don't be silly, everything's fine".
fuck it, she didn't even want this job,
been trying for years to think something else up.
and each idea would look great at first:
museum, gallery, books, a course.
and she'd plan it all out: meticulous.
but then doubts would come in bouts and bursts:
"what if people think you’re ridiclous?
you'll fail and that'll be much worse".
and the plans'd be dropped like broken eggs.
a cloud not like dreams, but like lead.
a dusk that made time drag its legs.
and time off was worse than anything else,
seconds ticking, one by one,
slicing up the quiet room:
"what are you going do?"
mind blank, throat tight, hands damp,
and slowly, dusk turned into night.
jamie was walking down an alleyway, blind.
and you really shouldn't walk alone at night,
when there's not even moonlight to keep you right.
just fingertips along the wall,
the muffled echoes of your own foot fall.
and you're not even sure why you came this way,
if it'll really take you home at all.
but jamie didn't even care that much.
mumbled to herself and stumbled on.
fumbled in a pocket for chewing gum.
couldn't find it.
stopped still.
no hurry tonight,
got time to kill.
her legs seemed absent,
far from the ground.
she sat down on the curb,
knees to the chest,
and at least here she could rest
her head comfortably.
there was never a time quite like this.
the first time quiet since she was a kid.
and there it was,
all fresh as new,
memories, old, breaking through.
and time could've stopped there dead,
but carried her round and round instead.
they say time will heal but they don't know shit,
and now jamie's sat in the thick of it.
and the storm comes on full blown.
i wish i'd known.
