These are the doldrums years.
It’s easy to feel stranded here.

Drifting in circular currents
Too tired, lazy, too still
To move between
Ports on the placid waters.
Wistfully waiting for storms to weather.
You come to live for the drama
When you’ve been alone too long.

I remember the departure.
We thought going international would be
All jet-set allure and dirty weekenders.
Horn-rimmed eyes raised in surprise
Innuendos flowing over pre-theatre wine
Not making it out to dinner some nights.
Cigarettes, Chanel and social climbing
Moonlighting in shades of musk and wine
Fuelled nights in our newfound glamorous.
We thought we were going to be fabulous.
Nameless misplaced rat race weekdays
Colours on display accumulating stories,
Raconteurs’ misfit triptych mystic bullshit.
We’ll have so much to say it’ll be fucking entertaining.
Cos we’re both fun at parties and we’re both artists.
We thought we’d accumulate luggage.
Not baggage.

Maybe if i look back far enough
I’ll only see the ship and not the wreck.
Every mile travelled a mosaic
Of moments, minutes misspent. A mess.
Days wasted on trains, Planes
Even a boat that time when we sank.
Panic stations, alarms blaring,
Stares fixed and water rising
War among nations, neutral
Friends, cold instigations
Mixed messages, misinterpretations.
Our soiree in Shetland.
(*siren noises*)
We torpedoed it, didn’t we?

Beautiful, striking
Distant and isolated. We ran out
Of things to do and say.
We were only passionate
when we argued.

These are the years of wine and cake.
Yeah, we all joke how they sound great.
Too large to navigate the straits of escape
You ditch your cargo or this is your fate.
Deadweight. Floating in empty space,
Praying the winds and waters will change.

Smoke breaks bless the distress like incense
Grab the pack and spark to genuflect
Pray for preventative intervention,
Bless this inevitable shipwreck.

Isn’t it cruel how you split in half
Then end up doubling in size?
Eating your feelings and drinking the fortune
You wasted your youth amassing.
Failure’s freight inflates like the inverse of
Your self-confidence, buoying
The bitter wish that you
Hadn’t worked so fucking hard for this.

These are the doldrums years.
It’s easy to feel forgotten here.