THE GAFFER TAPE OF HONESTY

time was
id drawn lines in my head

walls built by a child
from crumbling crayon

heavily plastered 
in the teenage trenches
of rough peer wars

reinforced
with the bullshit girders of adult steel
in
the
cash-on-a-friday pay days

( and if the decoration analogy
  is clumsy and pushed too far
  then
  its
  enough
  to
  say . . . )

id boxed everything in
everything nailed down

but id cross these lines
when i drank
and it was dark
and everything was mad
and tomorrow
was 
a
myth
away

patrolling these borders
in excellent inebriation
they
appeared
only 
like spiders webs
outlined in dew
and
spun
across
the
pub bog doorway

the forbidden was tempting
and id lift something
brazen and easy 

i was a sneak thief 
working in his own pockets 

and id blurt it out . . .

and no one noticed anything
mighty was happening at all

but in the morning
i
would
be
locked
in
a
journey of awful remembrance 
berating myself
down a black whirlpool
in
the
awful daylight
of
the
another bus commute 

but tho time patched 
time eroded too 

and it all collapsed like wet card

the walls a ramshackle cowboy build after all

and
i
was
free
to
breakdown on the rug
wailing into the phone
a dinner i didnt want forgotten and burnt
in
the
dirty dish kitchen

then it was the challenging task
of mending a busted tool box
with
busted 
tools

i used the gaffer tape of honesty
of lobotomised openness
of fm cliche love
and
i
let
the
busted
be

from mindyourdirt.com