Wrung out

 

I have felt 

the demons

wring my heart dry

like a rag sat

on a bar top,

soaking up 

the slops.

 

I've walked in places

few would choose.

Mistakes, I've made

 more than a few.

I've got a whole

headful of regret

and my demons

won't let me forget.

 

I've done things 

of which

I’m not proud,

definitely never

shout loud,

I've got a sieve-like mind

but my brain always

seems to find

a photographic moment

to remind..

 

I have walked 

for too long

In the wrong directions.

I've followed the throng

and it's misdirection.

I have listened to my head

when I should have 

followed my heart,

and I've listened 

to my hearts drum

when my head said run.

 

I've stumbled through hell

more times than I care to admit,

just to feel some heat touch my icy shell.

Smouldering brimstone fires and raging pits,

I ambled through in a wasteful fit.

I'd set myself up to fall, because I could.

I've walked with people that were no good.

I have laid in too many strange beds.

I've awoken with too many bruised heads.

I fell more than walked

and talked. When silence would 

have been an easier choice,

because no-one realised my voice

was me saying, "I'm not okay."

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle