Fine doesn’t mean fine.

while my  anxiety rules every single healthy thought I used to have

yes, I am firming this smile
if I stop smiling, the tears will start
last time I cried so hard my heart skipped a beat

I keep forgetting the happy memories
is like the pain has swallowed the little bit of happiness I had left

I am still breathing even though my soul plays with death every night

Buddy Wakefield

This is poem that I wrote today after watching Buddy Wakefield
perform “Guitar Repair Woman” in London.

You said that you haven’t seen your mother in over 16 months.
As I watched the alcohol soak into your heart I wanted to say:
“I haven’t seen my mother in over 6 years
and I will never see her again in this life. ”

What will you do Buddy
when the woman that made you live
will be taken away by the night?
Did you know that at night
our souls dances between this world and the next
That yes our bodies finds rest at night
but our souls.. well they fight and ooh they fight

What happens when she isn’t yours no more but of death?
When she has taken all your trust away
and all that’s left is you.
When you’re all alone, hyperventilating
trying to steal the air of the ones who do have mothers.
Will you crumble? Will you die?
Or will you try and go through the 5 stages of grief?
Or will depression take away your soul
and leave your legs behind to move aimlessly in this world?

Mothers they have that thing,
that urge to be there for you
whereas others they will grow tired of you

In the end you may  learn to settle or worse learn to trust yourself.

Buddy how is this going to end?