It’s not like I didn’t see it coming.
I hadn’t had a day off work in months.
I hadn’t had a proper holiday in longer.
I hadn’t met a friend in many winters,
I hadn’t met a woman in many summers.
I’d spent the nights alone
Reading the miserable musings of Poe
And the relentless ramblings of Bukowski,
Alone beneath my cracked window pane,
And fell sombre with an ever-full tumbler.
I never listened to the words of others,
And never gave a reply
To their incessant drawling and cawing.
They said this would happen
If I never spoke to a soul.
So I stayed silent and sombre,
And read the musings of madmen.
And in turn became a madman.
Not one of the greats – just a normal one,
Uttering mad thoughts at the walls.
Because they only listen
When the whole world shouts.