The road through

We’ve all got strings
Being played
How did I know
It would end this way?
Bust a lip with black eyes
Broken nose
Packs of ice
Resting on my bones
Till another fight

When will my strings
Be played right
Trying not to be a victim
But I’m feeling dark tonight
One drink for the road
This road I’m on
Mustn’t lose my grip
On the wheel, heading through
A town I know will never heal

As yet untitled

And shall I act the gentleman when intoxicated by anger?
Simply twirl my moustache and walk away?
For what fairness is this, If I am the victim
Of an abusive charade?
What if another, an outsider lets say
Walks in and witnesses my anger on a particularly bad day
Would they not side with him, my nemesis?
For they would not have the eye that beholds
The images of all our yesterdays
And his bitterness and abusive ways

How does one act with stoicism
When anger curdles the blood within one’s veins
When there is injustice being etched
Upon the lines of my face
Perhaps one day becoming my age
And for moments in glimmers of time
I see to it that he remains only human in my mind
But then a sadness my own and his, I should well imagine
Leaks from my eyes
And empathy kicks in
Only to find it makes me angrier
The next time he crosses the line

For I burdened myself with sadness for him
When I have my own dark abyss
Fearing I haven’t experienced the scars
That are his
And thus undeserving of this sadness
For surely I haven’t been through enough
For such madness
And that makes me a terrible man
To think I’ve suffered enough to be sad!
Yet here it is, it beckons in my heart
An emptiness that is full
That could tear even oceans apart
A depression so deep
I never really know where to start.