It's something that's not supposed to ever be said isn't it
it's taboo but I am so glad that the bastard is finally dead
even so, so he is, and yet the finality of it hasn't really hit me
it's like I'm sitting here waiting for something more than it will be
I guess I'm still wishing, hoping for some way to truly break free
to leave behind what he did to us in the dust of old redundant memory.
There's something about living a life that's not quite complete
and I know there's loads and loads of people in the same boat as me
I'm forever coming across these souls in almost unbelievable pain
which sometimes makes me feel a bit like I've no right to feel this way
and yet the problem with pain is there's no measure of it and so anyway
even if my pain is really worse or not worse what difference does it make?
It makes a difference only if we compare, do we really want to go there
no me neither, I've been there already and it doesn't help either
it's tough to empty out this kind of thing, like bailing in a boat
to stop it from sinking and however frantic the effort, water rises
and feelings are so like that they wash over and they seep underneath
the guard we put up, the face we put on, the ready reply when we lie.
It's tiring too, it's exhausting to have this continual backdrop
this background movie running on through your mind, whirring whirring
waiting for your attention to swing in it's direction for when it does
the volume goes up the colours sharpen it's a smellivision feelathon
a trip down memory lane with full colour graphics, full on sensation
if you could sell this but without the experience, an instant fortune.
There's a shopping list of possible cures, some aren't that expensive
there's talking talking talking, there's shocks, there's drugs, time
there's always time isn't there? Except how much more will I need
for I'd like to have some left over, some left where I can just be me
whoever that might be, I wonder what sort of person I would be now
well I'll never find out, for the past is over with, it's gone anyhow.
I'm glad that he's dead, I wish it had been sooner, much much sooner
for now I can sense the wasted years in a way that I didn't before
too caught up in just getting by just trying to live some sort of life
not hoping for freedom, well that's not quite true for I was hoping
just never believing, never anticipating, which turns out to be good
because the person I turned out to be is fine, but I'd like to be free.
I'd like back what he took, and yet somehow I couldn't quite define it
until I read a story about a scary bad man who stole a boys childhood
and that's what happened, that's exactly how it was, what was taken
which can't now be given back, anyway what use is it now to an adult
or at least so I tell myself as there's really no point in wishing
for what can never be, I can't travel back and reclaim what was lost.
Floral oil painting with red blooms opening
3 hours ago