The Blah feeling

O Blah feeling, all my life I’ve dreaded your arrival and here you are, this time to stay perhaps, as you settle down comfortably and slip into your slippers. Oh Blah feeling must you be so persistent in that quietly mouldy way, as you rule out the golden pleasures, the possibility of a soft embrace, a little bit of oxygenated blooming, you are always so goddam consistent, singing your eulogies to stagnation with your fossilized vocal chords, letting the dishes pile up, creating silences and ensuring they flourish and grow. I thought I’d said goodbye to you at Potzdamer Platz but you followed me around like a pedantic, trainspotting pest; you popped up wherever I went, signalling to me, waving like a moron, sticking around, making yourself comfortable, turning up with religious devotion every Sunday, as my life was squeezed between the barrels of a gun, and the launderette became my den, my cave, my place of un-being. Blah feeling I know you love me, and have my worst interests at heart, but I wish you would just bogg off.