What does it take to make you realize that bad person is there in our world, and it was never your fault that they broke you apart.
Don't blame yourself.

poetry is bloodletting
for my aching hands,
brain, heart, soul, whatever.
in maroon, I see a *****,
disconnected features, details,
themes, emotion.
all useless without the right vessel.
the pages may get stained
but the Rorschach means nothing
without rhythm and image and heat
and light.

Having caused much pain
And upset to one I love
I looked long and hard
At me to find the root
Of my failing,

I cut deep and discarded
My ego my pride
And a host of other bad
Habits that accrued
Across the years,

And deep within me
I found an eight year old
Little boy with arms
About his knees,
Head down,

His tear streaked face
Framing a mouth that
Screamed silently in pain,
Heartbreak and
Loneliness,

So I looked within
That visceral version of me,
Cutting deeper than before,
And right at his heart
I found a budded rose,

At first glance
It was perfect,
But closer view showed
Dessication discolour
And paper thin petals,

But even as I watched
Your hand appeared,
Caressed the child
Then watered his
Withered heart,

And in an instant that bud Regained its lustre
And its carmine hue,
The petals spread to glorious flower,
The silent screaming paused

In wonder then delight,
I realise now there
Was no fault in me nor
My heart or view
I just needed watering

With love

From you

that initial feeling
of water as
it seeps
through the seams
of a boot
finding cracks
in the leather
supposedly
   waterproofed
against such leaching
of puddles being
drawn in by
a traitorous sock
willing to sacrifice
the fraternity
of dry comfort
that once it held
flooded with irritation
that will be quenched
only with the offering
of an inane
expletive or two
muttered
under breath
carrying the weight
of a week's worth
of frustrations

Wasn't so much afterthoughts
but rather the act itself;
that myoclonic movement
An involuntary reflex of sorts.

Prisoner to human conditions
conserving oneself with
The illusion of individualism

A Perceived idea of what is natural
An erroneous concept of right and wrong.
Blaming the sky for rain and storm
Instead of hiding under shelter.

Punishing clueless planet earth
Our thoughtless pollution of her the seas
Man and man at war
Setting off bombs just for kicks.

The errs was much more than just
you could taste its bitter like venom;
Blisters from a flame or the sting of a slap.
Tangibly intangible were the sins we did.

Sometimes we knew what
We couldn't be held accountable for
Being not the kind frowned upon,
We did it in such abundance.

But it wasn't their fault,



.
.
.
or was it...

i was late
through no fault of my own
at least
that's what i tell myself
just one of those occasions
where try as you might
the universe won't allow you
to leave on time
standing at the threshold
one final pat of pockets
to check i had
all that i needed
looking up
to gauge the need
for coat or umbrella
i witness
an inhumane globule
of avian faeces
viscous and creamy
in colour and consistency
exploding upon the path
two steps ahead of me
i see no sign
of the culprit
hearing only its cacophony
of enjoyment
or maybe disappointment
drifting
into the distance