It was Over. Before it was Hung

Friday nights can be fun sometimes. Until you do like me and put pressure on them, pressure to have fun. Have you ever noticed when you go out looking for fun you never really find it? I have, and trust me its not fun. It was more fun writing the poem about it. Is that sad? Probably but lets not get into that right now.

It was Over. Before it was Hung

Its Friday and night

My lips are tainted with white

Others have gone red

The smart ones are not tainted at all.

Fun? What is fun?

Is this fun?

Being with strangers?

Looking for a chair?

Chairs are comfortable.

When you sit, you feel that weight off your feet.

That pressure, gone

You can relax

I can relax.

I arrive late to the parties

Always standing, never sitting.

I am told standing is fun.

Really? Fun? Is this fun.

My legs are tired, I need a break.

A break, yes, a break. I see a chair.

An empty chair.

I see it.

Does he?

The quiet was deafening.

Even when there’s sound

I could here the silent undertone.

Tainted with white, my cheeks like rosé

Looking back now was it even worth it?

What it even fun?

With lips like this, I can no longer see

The loudness of others can be more deafening than the silence.

The wonder of what you see and don’t see is blinding

Bubbles are easily broken. Broken in the wrong way

Untainted is dawn.

The Chair? What chair?

Like the desert, tainted lips play tricks on you

The chair was no longer there

To try and sit, would to be look like a fool

There was no chair

There is never a chair.

The hardest time, is in the morning.

You wake with all your sense. Knowing

Time moves forward, you can never go back

Head flaming with the regretful thoughts

You now have a choice

Give up and die before trying.

Or

Realise that this is life.

Mistakes are made

Get that voice out of your head telling you, you cant

And stand.

Stand proud.

Stand hopeful.

Stand smiling

Stand.