I’ve screwed up

I’m clued up

Gut sinking

fuck

blinking

And gaze reflectively.

But I can’t control it. Those tender nauseating gaps keep cracking open, letting in the slime.

Slap head flat fore

Flip moan grip grind

and breathe through clenched fists

just seconds until the future

Tomorrow will be better

Because it’s never now.

I’m holed up

The whole rut — which seemed so real is not.

The mind keeps minding but the air is breathed in the here and the now.
And then, spring brings blossoms in real time.