maybe it's me.

Everything is a little bit grey today.

A little bit flat, colourless.

I’m not sure if it’s because I can only

See grey nowadays,

Or if it’s because I want it to be this way.

The dog is dreaming, twitching beside me.

And I think, jealously,

How nice it must be to sleep

So goddamn easily.

But maybe it’s me, keeping myself awake.

I don’t really smile anymore.

Not the kind, at least,

That is bold, wide and honest.

But I don’t frown.

Because I'm numb, inherently straight-faced.

There are phases I go through,

Times I think, maybe

I can write it all down, succinctly.

Make sense of it.

But the prose is always choppy, tangled.

So I just go back to bed.