It ain’t always gonna flow on out of me, truth told I don’t know what’s gonna happen next, what will be will be, perhaps?
A lapse in memory when it comes to the poems that I have done, when looking for a little more ammunition all I need to do is think about a few of the sadder people out there, be prepared to go a little deeper, imagine the one who contemplate suicide, gun in hand
Write what they might be going through, how it ever came to this, life passing them by in a horrendous slew
He sits at the dinner table far less than able, pointing that gun in entirely the wrong direction, all because he failed to make the right kind of correction, connection when it came to his life
His wife long gone
How had he managed to get it so very wrong? Their child at his feet, bawling like mad owing to the all too unwelcome arrival of new teeth
Front door closed shut, he could only manage to mutter these words, “My life, dear boy, it’s been a waste of time, nothing but absurd… and now I need to take it to the next level”
Oh how he reveled in his pain, the utter disdain when it came to everything and anything going on about the place, face full of tears, neighbours only ever intent on lending him their jeers
He wasn’t holding on to what he knew, only mustering enough for now to land a plate of half-cooked stew on the floor for his son
Painful, but nowhere near what he was to hear about his father in the years to come, his funeral just around the corner