I  heard somewhere that getting away from it all was good for your mental health, green spaces, less faces, gives a real feeling of genuine wealth. 

So, I contemplated my predicament skipped probation and decided to head for Clachan bridge the bridge that connects both ends of the Atlantic.

From the city places to pastures new, passing scenic shades of pastoral green,  purple heathers, reds, then blue, as the ocean opened up before me perfectly pixelated.

Intoxicated by these surroundings, inhaling the air fresh and naturally feeling higher, I felt a new sense of freedom, a becoming, a belonging, a new sense of desire.

There was no police presence, no ambulance sounds, no need to cover my genuine smile with my city face frown, I wasn't another villainised  statistic.

There was solitude and a silence in the darkest depth of night, and for a moment I was surrounded by people who loved me, I was living my best life.

There was a kaleidoscope of colours enthralling and unseen by few, and within the midst of the rainbows end, I swear that pot of gold came into view.

At night I lay beneath a galaxy of stars, a spiritual light leading me through these celestial body of emotional scars, hope lay within this momentary darkness.

But gradually hopes light faded, the paths I followed to this stream, although they lead me to this ocean beneath clachan bridge, the life I imagined was a dream. 

I heard the zombie knifes being sharpened, and in the blinking of an eye, I took a bump to my boost my ego, and right then and there, it all became a lie.

This mentality it was noring, drilling into this numbed and foggy brain, and despite the change of scenery, things were turning out the same, these habits form for a reason.

And the pictures I had painted all though in the moment they were colourful and true,  were only part of a sprawling landscape of a journey instead of something new.

And the grey stone slabs drew closer,  as did the familiar city shouts and cries, and with the dissipating scenery, a falling star flickered, so evaporated my thinly vailed disguise 

I had created an illusion; I had mastered mined my own self-doubt and within the catacombs of streets that I walk and wander, from the shadows, I realised I cannot now step out 

So, I sleep with one eye open, look over my shoulder every day, and I await for the inevitable to happen as the stillness of time lingers then ebbs away, caught up framed within a picture.

But in the meantime, and the moments, when I think of things I wish to do,  I sit with you my thoughts and daughters, beneath Clachan bridge, smiling, gazing, laughing at the star struck ocean view.