Innattentive subtype.

Close and reopen the same page, it's 2am again.

I should turn this damn computer off and go to bed,

but if I leave this nest of cosy quiet and crawl between the sheets

I've got to wake in the light and all the fucking noise.

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I need to think about what to do with the day ahead, but,

let's face it I won't go just yet and I need the sleep,

but the morning's really written off and still I need to figure out,

what to do with myself.

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I wish I could be something other than this,

but a useless fucking piece of shit, lazy, self-excusing,

anxiety riddled, forgetful, space cadet in

cloud fucking cuckoo land on a walkabout again is who I am.

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If I could just follow a thought, all the way from start to finish,

maybe I could figure out exactly where I'm going wrong.

But if I could, they wouldn't have said how bright I was but,

I really just don't apply myself.

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If I had run around and tapped my feet and drummed the desk,

If I had run my mouth and shouted out, maybe they'd have noticed.

But, all I fucking do is stare, transfixed by a constant flying stream of pictures,

I swing from thought to thought.

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I wonder if I'd got the pills, if I had seen a doctor,

would I have that magical staying power that my Mother always wanted.

I never finish anything, when I start on something new she always rolls her eyes,

but Mother, when I lose that spark I'm left pushing a boulder up a fucking hill.

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I see that look now in my partner, when I find something shiny,

she knows that soon enough it will lose it's sheen and I'll discard it,

but what am I supposed to do with this magpie brain,

not build a nest of of wasted opportunity?

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