Black Velvet Oblivion

Maybe nothing will come.
And what will that be like?
Heavenly.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
Nothing.
I longed for it when I was eighteen,
to stop my pain.
Now it’s different.
Then I thought death was black velvet oblivion.
But it’s not.
It’s the abyss.
It’s in me.
But I can’t find it with all this fucking noise.
People shrieking, laughing, arguing.
Drilling, hammering,
bang bang banging.
Engines throbbing, flatmates humming.
I am tired.
Hyper alert.
Startled heart at sudden sounds.
When will it stop?
Altogether it’s a cacophony,
an unfunny joke and
I am the punchline.
I know it’s there
black velvet oblivion
somewhere
beneath my layers
of startle and surprise.
I need a map, a compass.
I want to find that place beyond dreams.
And shelter for a while.
To be nothing and no-one,
not without value,
just to rest without Me thinking,
for a while.
Without me and my history.
And my future.
Just black velvet oblivion.
A deep hole of nothingness.
But I am afraid to go there;
what if I don’t wake up?
What if someone comes into my room?
Even though they can’t.
My body doesn’t know it’s 2020 and he’s been dead for forty years.
My body still feels the like the victim of his touch.
And every night bedtime becomes a battle.
And I’m tired of being tired.
And I know black velvet oblivion is there.
Waiting patiently for me.

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