Scribbled Thoughts

Betrayed by one

nestled on your arm

for so long,

whispering doubts and suggestions

that influenced everything

you believed.

Everything you wanted to be.

Is it wrong to still want it?

Or must you change all you know

because it proved false.

Time is everything

to create the perfect loaf,

to arrive when you’re needed,

to be what you’re supposed to be.

If you’re disjointed you’re

forever a disappointment,

lazy, wasting your life.

Perhaps time is the true God,

unrelenting, unforgiving,

unknowing of how it

effects us mere mortals.

Not caring.

Good Friday,

a day to panic buy

all the bread and cakes,

ready for a picnic that will be

ruined with rain and grumbling,

as always, but which is never expected.

Ask for later dates we can’t provide

because they don’t exist yet

and express disgust at the one day

everything will be closed,

becoming the biggest inconvenience

in your life, even though you’re

already here today.

Will your gathering be happy,

or is your mood given to everyone

outside of customer service too,

so even your family dread

seeing you walk towards them.

Finger rolls,

bread that names itself

wanting you to imagine

cannibalism as you slice it

open, butter its insides

and consume its soul,

without even contemplating

whose fingers you are devouring.

C and T

decorated with two lines

that announce your illness

of a disease that almost broke the world

but now is an annoying inconvenience,

not even worthy of a day off

or extra caution.

Frozen presence

forces us to stand still,

breathe, witness,

wait until heat can melt

away the stillness.

A moment to stop,

whether we have time to

or not.

Rehearsing words and accusations,

finding the perfect balance of stern

but respectful.

Over and over it circles in your head,

unable to sleep,

so that when the time comes

to act you’re too exhausted

to try anymore.

The telltale sign of yellow

confirms favouritism

and convenience is at play.

Thoughts of confrontation

cause a weary defeat,

knowing it will make

no difference.

Oi, you, come here

and be my scapegoat again.

Blaming the one actually

responsible is too much effort

and hard work.

With you I can just ignore any

protests and say my lecture

with no guilt,

because you’re not a real person,

right? Quiet people never are.

Sign this and take the blame,

then I can walk away whistling

for a job well done

while you are left an emotional

wreck, wondering why you bother.