I’m not very good at writing not-prose. In fact I haven’t done so since I was 14 that I can remember, so that’s about where I’m at emotionally! Seemingly, it allows me to bare my soul without actually, y’know, baring my soul.

So here’s some not-prose I wrote. It’s very raw and personal for me, so I’m not really looking for you to comment on my dodgy rhyming skills or imperfect stanzas.

But if you have the time to read it, and it strikes a chord somewhere, then that’s awesome. And if you recognise it for what it is, the self-indulgent, idle witterings, of a borderline manic-depressive, then that’s awesome too.

Midlife Meltdown

You say it’s hard to believe
I say it’s hard to know
Who do I look to
Where will I go

There’s no one to blame
There’s nowhere to hope
I’m sinking deeper
Struggling to cope

There’s nowhere to turn
There’s nowhere to run
I’m spiralling under
Can’t find my sun

Cos, you care too little
And you care too much
And you’re too blind drunk
To hand me a crutch

The future has gone
It’s lost in the past
How long is all this
Expected to last.

My midlife meltdown
Running out of time
But I just smile now
‘cos I’m still fine.

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