wobbling waltz
by ThedominiqueofregressioN
I was young.
I could walk for miles without getting tired.
My thoughts could send me flying elsewhere.
I can put holes through a wall with a single punch.
I can control others' minds and make them act silly.
There were no clocks in my head!
I can compete with fast gods or go toe to toe with
stronger enemies.
All those possibilities. . .
and none of these.
It's not a mystery to me that I keep
having this fantasy to be young again,
rewind, nothing in mind;
not a single thing to be reminded of.
of any specific steps to take in order to make it;
all nothing but pure grandiose on the spot.
no fucking critics to tell you their boring bigotry
because for fuck's sake,
all the sake's for our innocent poetry.
rhyming is allowed, spacing and misspelling,
no viewers, awkward, anxious...cringey.
you name it!
these things basically, if not, partly make
our youth meaningful.
deprived of all the terrors of the world
and what people say.
If given a chance to relive them all
I'd do better
but maybe,
I am just helplessly
drifting away again
in this coping mechanism.
god if this is a theatre,
splash an epic ending for me
before you close the curtains.
I am drunk
and I have work tomorrow
just like everybody else.
Don't feel sorry.
I did this to myself.
I was careless.
Now, I am going to sleep.