Regrets

Regrets don’t define me,

They have a conscience,

They remind me,

They refine me,

They guide me,

They adjust me,

Redesign me,

They find me,

Walk beside and behind me,

They change me for the better,

They wise me up,

They shake me awake,

They shock me real,

They turn me around,

They make me turn on my heel,

They drop the hints,

They push me forward,

They give me reality checks,

They give me the facts,

Behind the lies,

Behind the eyes,

I’ll never deny them, but,

They’ll fuck me over,

If I repeat them.

Waiting in Line

You reach a certain age and you realise,

We are all just waiting in line,

Watching people die,

Waiting for our number to be called,

The only certainty we have about life,

Is that life is a death sentence,

So, enjoy it while it lasts.

 

We dream,

As we pace about our waiting rooms,

Of perfect lives, perfect bodies,

Nice house and garden,

The perfect love story,

We work, in varying capacities,

To achieve great things,

Weighing ourselves against the competition,

Comparing notes.

 

We get by,

Shuffling our feet, slouching in front of TV Sets,

That feed us dreams and bullshit,

We buy the bullshit-

Hopeful of success but clueless on what it takes,

Mortality creeps up on us,

As we sleepwalk,

Carelessly stumbling on addictions, habits, and greed,

We dance across the tightrope of time,

As though immune to danger.

What a waste,

To spend a lifetime finding our balance,

To slip, fall and find no safety net beneath us,

What a tragic shame,

We don’t love each other enough,

To show respect, understanding, and kindness,

Don’t appreciate each other,

Don’t care until it’s over.

 

We turn a blind eye until all hope is gone,

Wake up suddenly regretful, feeling sorry for ‘ourselves’,

Tears are reserved for the living, my friend,

You were born to ‘feel’.
You’ll reach a certain age and realise.

 

Cracked Paint

Cracks in the paintwork will show,

No matter how many times you gloss over memories,

The rough grain of turbulent thoughts,

Will never be smooth,

You’ll feel the splinters penetrate your skin,

Your nerves raw, as your mind fragile,

No matter how many times you redecorate the room,

You’ll conclude that old woodchip wallpaper will simply have to remain,

Stuck fast to the plaster, beneath the new.

 

Your mistakes, regrets, and resolutions,

Follow you,

All your doing and undoing,

Will undo you,

For better or worse,

Fractures in the sky will appear,

Sunlight will shine in,

Rain will soak you to the bone and,

The cracks in the paintwork will grow,

Like vines of ivy on abandoned buildings.

 

Where nature reclaims her own,

Your character takes on new meaning,

You survive, you thrive,

Through it all,

Some flakes of paint,

May crumble and fall away,

Let them fall,

It’s the cracks in the paintwork,

-That make you.

 

Footprints in the Frost

Soft sentiments, poetic,

Heart-warming verses,

Neatly written by innocent hands,

On pristine pages of tidy notebooks,

No torn pages, no crumpled paper,

No dogeared corners, nor crossed out words,

No bend or break in the spine of the book,

With certainty, and self-assured peace of mind,

Soft sentiments, poetry,

Heart-warming verses,

They belong to a character, in a book,

I’ll never write.

 

Because I’m starving for words,

Shivering and shaking at the back of my rented home,

It’s winter at 4am,

Starlit in pinpricks of white,

Against a deep black sky,

Clear night,

The silver moon in full bloom,

Thick frost glistening, crunching underfoot,

A dog howls in a neighbouring yard,

My breath wheezes smoke rings,

That curl, drift, fade, soft into the cold air,

Like ghosts.

 

 

I wonder why I’m out here,

With you,

On a night like this where the currency of ink is all spent,

And the soul shrinks back into the landscape,

Unseen.

 

I admit you caught me out,

Whispering at solitude,

Screaming silently,

Cursing shadows,

Caught me-

 

Leaving footprints in the frost,

For you to follow,

-Before you dare lift your pen.