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Poetry & Fiction

Fatigue

Audio: Read by Emily Simmons.

Tears seep out of my joints crying for a chair
For a chance to relax,
No pick up the slack
My friend this is not suffering

collage of three ancient sculptures on top of an image of blue waves, with a light yellow border.
Collage by Cara Waudby-Tolley

Suffering is fetal position
Head tied to your knees
Chest hungry for air
All you need is a breath

Rather than a worm of hope
Buried in your ribcage
Wishing its way through,
Reminding itself
What oxygen is.

It does exist.

Otherwise you would be dead
And not the dead you feel
The dead you just are.
Still.

Not even a heavy heartbeat
To remind the panic,
Not even a pulse
Thumping in your thumb

Head folds onto desk
As hands sweep through
Strands of soft hair
A moment of childlike sleepiness

Only not a moment but
A lifetime.
Of twirling luscious locks
Around forefingers
Eyes glazing over like
Iced doughnuts
In search for comfort.

Memories prick points in my brain
Playing games
With the thoughts I once called home

Internal words I trusted
As my own
Translate into a foreign language
Only a stranger can explain

A stranger that calls itself
A therapist
And sits with my brain and I
From time to time

Time to time to time to
Stop.

The session is over
But the story isn’t.

Isabella Walton About Author

Isabella (she/her) is a filmmaker and writer from North London, passionate about shedding light on mental health and identity issues.

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