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
They leave you scattered all over the place
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.