Saturday, 1 September 2012

Spat out by Saturday night...

Slashed wide open...the heart of a hesitant poet.
Daring to dream but ever second guessing,
Where are the beautiful lines?

A beautiful line created from a memory of a better time.
I've been in love and I'm capable of great feeling
My heart gets stolen about twenty times a day,
But always given back or snatched back from the jaws of victory.

12 minutes...acceptable time to wait for a train.
Anything longer is a strain on my brain...a waste of a life.
Cold bum on cold blue steel with a mouth so dry.

Kate's voice fills my ears with modern wisdom in youthful Tempestual tones,
And I often nod my head to the relevance and no need to force a smile.
It's true Icarus flew but no matter how hard I flap my arms I can't take off...
Won't stop me trying though.

I look around at Sunday morning leftovers...chewed up and spat out by Saturday night.
The city has taught us another lesson but not one of us has learned.
I'm never drinking again...
I tell myself again...

I smell, of sweat and of shame
I'm getting too good at this game.
Skill comes with experience.
I often look down on an old drunk but I'm fast becoming a veteran.

Train my pen still races upon the page,
And my heart bleats when I realise I'm gonna be late.
I'm becoming a plain mess
The same mess that tore us apart.

And now my headphones talk of love...
Heavy thoughts bounce around my head and it hangs with sheer weight.
But before epiphany or beginning to contemplate...the train arrives,
Full of bodies because it's late.

So I swap blue steel for blue plastic and I'm relieved.
Pleasantly surprised to look in the mirror and see youth staring back.
I draw sharp breath as the train jolts and I nearly throw my phone in the bog.
Panic averted I end up with no more than a little piss on my shoe.

A night forgotten as I move in a straight line towards HOME.
The warm sun magnified by the dusty window illuminates my face,
And once more heart and pen begin to race.

Not one face smiles back.
I heard smiling was infectious and I put my theory to the test.
I flash a big angry guy a winning smile.
His reply.....'whatchoooo farking gawping at???'

I get some giggles from a gaggling group of girls...
So I cheered someone up.
As I try to look anywhere apart from at him a handwritten message on the wall tells me to...
'Go Fuck yourself!' and it seems fitting.

My ears still ring with the sound of Saturday night
And cracked lips make it hard to speak.
Robbed of my usual eloquence I sit and I scribble.

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