I want to wake up like they do in films
no puffy eyes that blink to find the dawn
foreclosed again behind those wretched
blinds you bought
but sunlight streaming in
through impractically curtainless windows;
my skin, made-up in golden light,
looking taut from affluence
and vitamins.
Like they do in films,
no musty smell to haunt that room, I bet,
that sits upon the 19th floor,
or by a beach; a peaceful lake;
a quiet little mountain town,
and not the A34
with a baby in the flat below
and probably malignant mould.
I want to wake up like they do in films
untroubled by my dreams – those dreams!
that come for me each night; those gnarly hands
that grasp my feet – of everyone whose deaths I saw;
their blackened hands around at my neck,
their souls will never be at peace!
but feeling fresh, and ready
for a nice kombucha smoothie, because nothing
says self-care like a little morning flow
(a yoga mat, tucked in the frame,
completes this perfect
mise en scène).
Fergal O’Dwyer is a musician and writer based in South London. Their work often deals with our relationship with the natural world, which seems increasingly fraught with anxiety and dread.