10-06-2010, 11:29 AM
Leaning over the dark edge,
the slanting mud and blinded rocks,
a vast void of silence
before the grim stage
(on which stood the distant sea)
like a pensive audience
watching a bad comic.
Behind me were the caravans,
the warm front room I'd left,
the television still playing
a daft comedy,
about a boy in a bubble,
whose mother loves him
much too much.
The sky was black
and beautiful
because of its blackness;
that eve I was
the only one
using the midnight oxygen,
outside his temporary
home, here on the ledge
facing the sea,
contemplating suicide,
though not really;
I didn't have the courage,
and still don't today.
the slanting mud and blinded rocks,
a vast void of silence
before the grim stage
(on which stood the distant sea)
like a pensive audience
watching a bad comic.
Behind me were the caravans,
the warm front room I'd left,
the television still playing
a daft comedy,
about a boy in a bubble,
whose mother loves him
much too much.
The sky was black
and beautiful
because of its blackness;
that eve I was
the only one
using the midnight oxygen,
outside his temporary
home, here on the ledge
facing the sea,
contemplating suicide,
though not really;
I didn't have the courage,
and still don't today.