As evening sweeps the remnants of broken glass from the floor
the spills of another hard-luck tale
that got sucked in through the door
I’m hunched in the corner of a dead-end bar
this loner’s game
like walking out into a night without stars.
The crowd stagger clumsily into the street
as smoke curls around my fingertips
rising like an apparition
from a city of ash-brittle dreams.
The sky was grey
the mist over the clifftops was grey
the sea grey
the horizon line had turned so pale a grey
it couldn’t be seen with the naked eye
the mood was grey
grey seabirds were flying up above
singing, grey seabird songs
the sea air blowing across the beach
even had an icy chill, that felt grey
with occasional grey raindrops
that stung my pale grey face (and pink nose)
as grey waves were crashing on the shoreline
colliding violently with grey rocks
I walked along the grey sand
the shadows beneath my weary eyes, grey
the woollen hat on my head, grey
the hair beneath it prematurely grey
it was a grade A, grey day
that lasted and lasted
there was a distinct lack of colour
How often my heart sinks when you talk that way,
when you remind me
how it was when I was drowning.
Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, delusions and paranoia
when I was lost to myself completely.
Now I watch and listen, over my glass of gin
tonic, ice and a slice of citrus, bittersweet
pondering possible cures.
There are no answers
when the light leaves your eyes,
not even a healthy dose of hindsight, and wishful thinking.