The day, death seems like a cool spot in the shade compared tae facin life n lyin wide awake n hot, a sweatin shadow ae a former, younger, stronger self. There is nae sleep in this state ae limbo so A’m suspended in a livin nightmare, not livin nor dead. Still hallucinatin, imaginin A kin hear distant basslines n thinkin aboot eld burds long since gone n scenes ae wild pleasure the total antithesis ae how A’m feelin. A forget happiness n know only pain n regret.

Ma phone is ringin but A cannae answer it. We saw light, A came home n noo light hus remained. The bastardin burds ir singin in the trees tae taunt me in ma fragile, glass-like state. Do the birds still sing in hell? They do, they do. A’m beyond fragile, it’s more like brittle. A feel on the fuckin edge, that rattly, shaky, spluttery way. Every breath A take n exhale is like a backfirin exhaust. A’m chokin fur a fag but if A smoke wan A think A’ll huv a cardiac arrest. A’m terminal.

Saturday night wis indescribable but even that is overshadowed by the lingerin feelins ae utter defeat, pointlessness n despair. A’m a refugee fae ma own existence. A keep tryin tae force maself up n oot ae this bottomless pit. Some food n the warm stream n steam ae shower wull restore me tae some shade ae self n humanity. A come down is beyond roughness. Stomach cramps, cracked lips, a white sandpaper tongue, a blocked nose, chest pains and feelings ae total run-down deterioration. Yi feel sad, depressed n on the verge ae total misery, cripplin longin and melancholy. It’s a confusin n paranoid pathos tappin intae hardwired emotional issues, fears and desperation ae aw forms. There’s nae escapin the ecstasy blues.

We call it a ‘come-down’ n this is meant tae sum it up. This is a loose term which fails tae explain yir present state. It suggests a gentle drift back tae earth fae yir assumed high, like a helium-filled balloon finally lettin the lighter gas oot. This is more terminal velocity. A game ae chicken wae gravity, claimin yi back. Yi sink further doon than the place yi left fae. Normality, elation, euphoria, ecstasy, normality. If that wis the case, drugs wid be harmless. What goes up must come down? That doesn’t cut it either. The place yi descend tae is much worse than where yi started. Yi sink low, low as death, a personal hell where the birds still sing tae torment yi in the burnin daylight n keep yi awake n sufferin tae the fuckin last. Sweatin but cold. Shattered but cannae sleep. Normality wid be welcome. Ironic, int it? The place yi wur so desperate tae escape wid noo be a near paradise. Normality, the elusive state ae peace, which we take fur granted and mourn only when furthest fae it. Self-inflicted, no sympathy. Fuck you. Let me die quietly and in peace. I am in the dark, smokin in the deep blue, flattened by the white sweep of day.