Dreaming With A Broken Heart

I've been instructed to deal with my anxiety by 'free writing'. I use to do it in the past, but kinda lost my way in it. Basically when i have that feeling, I need to just start writing... no matter where it takes me. The content usually doesn't fit the s

I lay here, half sleep.
Sideways and legs crossed. 
In that perfect spot,
the warm spot surrounded 
by the rest of the icy cold mattress. 

A King-sized mattress with plenty of 
room to stretch out and get comfortable. 
But this was my spot.
It had always been my spot.

I'm dozing. Drifting off with the thoughts of tomorrow 
slowly growing blurring in my minds-eye. 
The faint ticking of the wall clock 
on the other side of the room 
slowly giving me that monotone lullaby
I am so use to.

And then i smell her. 
It was her scent. 
So so faint, 
but strong enough to wake me. 

I sit up. Confused. Disoriented? 
What's happening? Is she here?
No she's not. She's gone away from me.

There's a hole in my soul. I can't remember 
what use to be there, but I know it's gone. 
A grey sludge lapping at the rim of this gaping hole,
spilling onto and all over my insides. 
Making me feel that nausia. Sick. Sad.

Her absence is the biggest hole of all. 
It's enormous, and I don't dare turn on the light,
because i don't want to see myself living in it. So I sit here. 

In the dark.

 

Holding my chest. 

 

Deep breathes trying to stop the panic. 

I want to heave. I need to be sick. 
The anxiety's back, claiming me in the darkness. 
It's like an entity that i can't see, but can feel.

John Mayer's "Dreaming With A Broken Heart"
comes through my open window like soundtrack, 
waiting for some type of inner dialog to spring out of me.

 

When you're dreaming with a broken heart

The waking up is the hardest part
You roll out of bed and down on your knees
and for a moment you could hardly breathe.
Wondering was she here? Was she standing in my room?
No she's not. Cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone...