We close our eyes gently and slowly

Wait for the narcotic niceties to be over

“Isn't it nice to just relax?” you say

“Hmmmm” I agree, letting my thoughts become dreamy

 

My birthday is over and it's time to release the stress

It has taken so long

Doubling up the pretence puts pressure on the present

 

Downstairs you carry out the Birthday autopsy

Asking what’s wrong with me,

Holding a moratorium with cans of warm beer and acid casualties

 

I re- enter the scene of the crime

Five hours of fluttering sleep behind me

Sorry my eyes plead,

I wish I could relax and have more fun too,

But something about Birthdays just leaves me feeling blue.

 

You fix me with your cold, weary eyes and say in your deadpan Northern Irish accent,

“Happy Birthday”

The "Happy" bit said so bitterly

It's ok the irony isn't lost on me.

 

If I’m melancholy at 28

What will I be like at 43?

Because the more you worry, the worse it gets

Paving the way for a life of Birthday regrets