A Matter Of Time Pt. 2

Now be reasonable what was a young man ment to do?
Everyone’s femurs where getting cracked in the crossfire
It’s better one man gets broken completely then that
So I treat you like an ulcer before band practice
I took every single bullet with pride
Until I’m a corpse floating in the river to you
Did you fall for it hook, line and sinker?
Or did you see through it like a silk?

I send this reasoning in little scrolls
Drop them in the handbags of your social circle
And maybe one day it’ll come around your way
Like the back page of a crossword book
I hope it gives you all the answers your looking for
Now here’s the question that keeps up all night
Will you react with a sense of relief, the lights have gone green
Will you spit on the paper, the lights have been smashed

I know there’s probably nothing I can do
To stop the filthy glares at the bus stop
And the way you cast your rod in everyone’s pond
Just to get the hint of a nibble on the hook
I imagine your eyes light up at the thought
Of being able to bring me up in conversation again
Are you trying to drop the same scrolls to get my attention?
Or are trying to burn the soil so nothing can grow again?

You like to deny but either way, you really are like me dear

*Written For National Poetry Month – 21/30*

This poem is a sequel too this one:
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/82818526063/a-matter-of-time

A Matter Of Time

It always conducts a glissando up my spine
When I spot your clan tracking at my sanctuaries
I don’t claim to have the deeds to these locals, but surely you know?
I wouldn’t leave these premises just for your consideration?
Are they scouts? Sniffing for my co-ordinates?
Are you hiding in smokers planning your tactics
Using the finished cocktail glasses
As chess pieces like a military tactician

Are you under the impression I’m still enamoured with you?
I’m not saying the hypothesis isn’t true
It’s just when you find yourself stuck to me like glue
I wonder, what exactly are you planning to do?

Each heckle the dogs give me on the street,
Each Chinese whisper forcefully relayed to me
Each WooWoo beaker thrown at my head
Feels like the tick of the clock
I don’t think I could call in sick for this appointment
Not even if I wanted to
I can imagine you coming up to me at the bar now
With a familiar smile, and a view to kill

Are you under the impression I still think of you all day?
If you don’t mind I’ll keep the answer to that one at bay
But when you do decide for us to meet in your little play
I wonder, what exactly were you gonna say?

This Poem Has a squeal:
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/83517596383/a-matter-of-time-pt-2

*Written For National Poetry Month – 13/30*