I’m smoke on a lung, a line never written

A talk without words, an act of contrition

A scarecrow, a jester, a hullabaloo

Not the thing that you asked for

But the one that will do

 

The most serious nonsense that never transpired

An energy spike in the night when you’re tired

I’m wired, I’m bricks, I’m a skylight on acid

I’m electro shock therapy

Until you lay placid

 

A wet dream that woke you - as dry as the dust

The thing that you won’t do, the one that you must

An accent, a nuance, a play upon word

I’m the thing that your ears see

I’m what your eyes heard

 

A plethora of head-fucks, a fog light of sun

I’m forgetting I’ve started before I’ve begun

A tear drop, which saved you from punching the wall

When too drunk to stand straight

And too tired to fall

 

An ego that’s battered, a virtue that’s falling

Got lost in the drama and just missed my calling

I’m eccentric, mosaic, a cascading desire

A mad man - perhaps

But never a liar.

 

Ged Thompson