Close my eyes,
try to let go of the grey,
dream of childhood tempers
scaling six foot wooden fences
because Little Miss Stubborn won’t use the gate.
Return to the known terrors,
to the films I’ve re-lived a thousand times,
find the familiar space
between the back of the shed and the train tracks,
feel the comforting quake as they speed passed,
the false sense of safety
found in running away from my problems.