Sometimes I have little fights with the voices in my head where we argue over what to say. Sometimes when the doorbell rings I sit quietly and wait until whoever it is just goes away. I binge watch shows I used to hate back when I was a kid as the dishes pile up in the sink. I’ll get around to cleaning up when it becomes less impossible and I have some more energy.

You can’t see where I am with my head down in the sand. Swipe me left, filter set for my closest online friends. Maybe I should just give up - stop pretending I’m in charge.

I hold that thought for a little bit; it sounds good, but I can’t swallow it or I know I’ll never fit this snake oil salesman’s discarded skin.

My missed calls are building up, they’ve started towering well above my engineer sensibilities. I tell myself I’ll call them back when they cease to be attacks on my fragile boundaries. You can’t see where I am with my head down in the sand. Swipe me left, filter set for my closest online friends. Maybe I could use some help so I can lift this load.

I swallow my pride for a little bit; it tastes nice, but I can’t stomach it or I know I’ll never fit this snake oil salesman’s discarded skin.

A means to an end is where I begin, chasing my tail back into my skin. Sew me in a refuse sack so I can’t climb out, dragging you all down as you turn your backs, wandering off like a metaphor for the regrets I have.

I’m snug under the radar where nobody will search for me, circling the airport in a marvellous pedalled flying machine.

You can’t see where I am with my head down in the sand. Swipe me left, filter set for my closest online friends. Can I stay another day leading me astray? I hold that thought for a little bit; it sounds good, but I can’t follow it or I know I’ll never fit….

Oh I know I’ll never fit.