Flies

The difference between

Eighteen and twenty-two

Hurtles forward

From behind me,

Unexpectedly.

At eighteen,

With a child-like innocence,

I stood on a ledge,

Looking down at my

Friends on the strand,

All gathered to celebrate

My birthday;

My best friend

Stood drunkenly in tow,

As I called out

(with his encouragement)

To all those people

Who seemed like they would

Be around forever:

“You are my people!”

At twenty-two,

Many of those people

Have vanished,

Turning right where we

Ventured left;

While so many lost loves –

Who never stood a chance

And never had a choice –

Have left me a shadow

Of the man

I once dreamed I could be.

At eighteen,

I was pure though tainted

With death’s brush,

And yet still whimsical

With simple hopes

And impossible ideas;

At twenty-two,

I am no more than

A carbon copy

Of my father,

The man who would

Remove his wedding ring

Whilst in bars

So he could distract himself

From the pain

Of being himself,

Alive and well

In all things but mind.

It is now

Impossible

To separate true feelings

From self-deception

As lust and love blur

Into one incoherent mess

Before my darkening eyes.

And it is hard to recall

What it was that made me

Love in the first place;

So, locked away,

I can hurt nobody,

Because whatever

Comes next

Will be to

The other person’s detriment –

And nobody deserves that,

So it can never happen.