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,
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