I often bang on about the world as a herd

Of sheep following puppeteer shepherds all being absurd

Been over it once. A second. A third.

And it’s time to take stock if I want my mind to be heard

Time to stop sulking, stop kicking up dirt

In old dusty playgrounds of memories hurt

Remembering things I never did learn

Listening in heated classrooms where ears should’ve burnt.

But I digress, reminisce on days that turn

Into jellified nonsense in my cranium urn

Filled with ashes of lost loves crashed and burned

Now where do I turn?

For is it just words

Written on paper by fingers that squirm

To squiggle out words like malevolent germs

Infecting my eyeballs with a dangerous curse

Until the memories are carted away in Mr. Bearer’s hearse.

Sticks and stones may smash your face

But words

They leave you scattered all over the place

These words

Dribbled and spat like inebriated sperm

Nonsense talked from mouths sporting hideous gurns

All these memories, this guilt, these words these words

A sesame street longing not Ernie but Burt

Old plastic lunchboxes, little white shirts

The forgetful young boy… “I forgot my P.E kit sir!”

And the year I started smoking, I’m sure you’ll concur

Was a year I’ll regret for this addiction I’ve heard

Will make my lungs all black and covered in dirt.

So many paths, different roads I could’ve turned

But why dwell on glory days while sitting on kerbs

With half empty bottles and words that slur.

For if I was an outsider, looking in to observe

I’d have no sympathy for this whining little girl.

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