in dark corners and wretched taverns
where I insulted myself, and I governed
by a tribal aggression; must retaliate
and avenge for society’s sake.
And I slithered about in cold London nights
with my hands in my coat pockets
holding matches that wouldn’t light;
too wet (too drunk) to be of any use.
But the promises they held...
Bring me combustion! That infinite fire
as my mind explodes! There’s a heat to inspire
and choke with the black draft. I found solace
in solitude because I had no where else.
It brings me to the edge
when I watch those cars drive by,
the national highway, hear her rotating cry
as I stand tears dropping down, the wind
licking my bare feet hanging off the ledge...
A spotlight transfixed me, blinded I
looked to my left to see a squad car
and my old friend knew I hit the bar,
so with a tired sigh and a furrowed brow
“At it again Breg? When ar’ya gonna learn boyo?”
And with that I shrugged and climbed into the backseat,
the bubbles of alcohol bursting in my head with sorrow.
I gaze comfortably behind the safety bars
as the trees go by and the wind follows too,
as my eyes start dancing and melody plays true.
I look back through the glass,
And the bridges transpire...
and I collapse.
Madness, Insanity, Depression, Suicide, Suicidal Tendencies, Poem, Poetry, Parker, Jennings