Some things, you never quite get over.
You think you have, but you remain haunted.
*****
bad friday
all week it’s been hiding
round the corner
of my tiptoeing mind
& behind the walls
of my fragile carefully fabricated
homeshell every day
building like a thunderstorm
of bricks & grey anvils
ready to rain hell
every year grief floats between
the dark bloody day of the tomb
& the numerical reality
only once in 25 years (2001)
have the anniversaries coincided
even so my sadness was not halved
the next won’t be till 2063
so i’ll split my weeping over
two different dates for years
is it any wonder
on days like these i spend all night
sleeping on top of myself
*****
gareth roi poet boi 