That dream again.
I’m always going ‘home’ or ‘back’
In any case I’m leaving where I am now.
There is so much to pack
To fit into a small case or supermarket bag
Too heavy to carry.
It’s taking too long whilst I go through wardrobes and drawers
Making sure I don’t forget anything.
And the panic is building
Everything is too slow and uphill
And I pull myself along the path
Grabbing branches and clumps of grass to drag myself along.
It needs to fuck off now
It’s making me ill.