Check, check, check again.
Is it good again?
Are you still my friend?
I've been rude again?
Said the wrong words again?
Regret the wrecked train-wreck again.
Wreck the set, stamp out the mess and tread backwards again.
Moon-walking and sliding , regressing time & rewind-again.
Instead of living life my friend, existing on the outside, to no end.
Outwards seeking eyes for signs and glimpses of kindness , admiring and
surprising finds only to find the scowling frowns yet again.
Thrown aside again.
I read that I should look inside not outside in order to regain.
the feeling that is missing and then
find my self, like a toy with a spring that was broken, then
pop up like a revived rabbit , bouncing big smiles lying again.
the inside is clearly retired, tired, decayed and never got started
never formed a semblance of any useful device that normal people retain.
Fuck it, grit teeth, I will move on again.
by Paul Sinclair