The real me

Is this the real me?

Dealing with it

An embarrassing ordeal

Wheeling away from those.

Kept as a secret

Kept as a secret

Regretting about it

Wept all the time

Swept it by night.

 

Lighting it up

Blighted by its disappearance

Plighted forever

Loss of sight.

 

Tossed away

Bad days

Paying for it

Laying out another.

Canned songs

Canned songs

Banned and hung

Unheard of

Words are spreading.

 

Dreading what will happen

It’s a song in red

Fretting about them

Betting to get them.

 

They were unreleased

Given a new leash

They knew it

They blew it.

Apology

She apologised

He eulogised

She forgave him

Gave him her stuff.

 

Backing her stuff away

She slacked him before

Coming to the fore

No more wars being fought.

 

Sought his forgiveness

Bought into it

Brought together

Under the weather.

 

No longer plundering

And blundering

They hold hands

Folding together.

Responding

Feeling despondent

Responding to him

Dismissing him

And hissing at him.

 

Singing a diss song

Trying to sing high

Dying to scold

Crying while holding on.

 

Upholding herself

She told me

She grew cold

She threw him away.

 

A very bad day

Praying to be forgiven

Feeling sorry for him

Worrying about him.

Diss Song

They used to kiss

Dismissing him

Writing a diss song

Hissing at him.

 

She said ‘Mona Lisa’

Moaning about him

Groaning in anger

Atoning for it later on.

 

She hated him

Fated to break up

Bitter revenge

Avenging herself.

They tell lies

They tell lies

Dying to sell those

Rumours start swelling

Smelling of hatred.

 

‘You got bitten by a dog’

Bogged by sneering

Jeering at him

Leering at him.

 

Jenny’s hair was on fire

They mocked David for being inspired

Trying to harm their aspirations

Never charmed by their revenge.

 

Avenging goes both ways

These are not good days

No time for payback

Slacking both of them.

Low on empathy

Low on empathy

Slow to care for

Those below me

Allowed to change

Better at stage.

Never grow old

Never grow old

Never be told again

No more folds.

 

Holding onto a youth

In a cold Christmas week

In bleak Christmas Eve.

Coming forth

Coming forth

Homing here

To the old dome.

 

Bringing forth

Ringing bells

Tingling a smell.