Door Open

Wild, wild…

Used to be when it was you and me,

Where are you now?

Mental breakdown? In some forgotten town?

Seem to have an affinity with people with ‘psychological issues’

A term so often misused

For creatives,

Imaginarium Natives,

Why don’t I collect tissues any more?

Like I used to

When it was me and you?

Maybe because I don’t cry so much now,

Not like I used to anyhow,

More likely to be laughing you see,

Which reminds me…

That comment about laughing – just in passing?

Or does he have a double life to cope with his strife?

Door open,

Going to get broken or snapped

Or something might get trapped


Back to the wild,

Wild open spaces, no more faces, looking back at me,

A cacophony of misunderstood signals,

I don’t get them, not in the way they’re used,

It just leaves me confused,

My mind abused,

Why don’t people just say what they mean?

And be what they seem?

I can’t be bothered to read between the lines,

It’s just another way of deciphering lies,

To which I’m allergic

In a kind of knee jerk

Fashion –

They kill all my passion

For life.

(c) Gemma Hinton

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