See Nothing

I write these notes to document this sinking.
They are encrypted in metaphors that
only mean something to myself
because
I want no-one else to understand what I
am documenting.
An anti-drama, an infinite regression, and
if this was a landscape, I imagine
it would be a mire.
Black mud
and days like headaches. Poetry hides
mundane self obsession
but doesn't make me proud.
I didn't sleep well last night, and I dreamt
of a petrol station that was dark,
where I once worked, and I
was working again.
The aisles were empty, and the till
was hidden in a corner where I could

see nothing.