The Paths

i can see a weaker bleaker

version of myself

succumb and surrender

to the dark

it's like a piss weak lightshow

for yet another stupid end

not prepared to heal with time

not prepared to try or mend

i see clearly this other me

angry confused and hurt

looking for obscure solutions

or another ironic punk rock shirt?

i see this man, this broken cog

break and come right off the wheel

and fly off into another uncaring night

like it’s some super-secret shady deal

i see this man become alert something

has tripped something else in his mind

he comes alive with a purpose only he knows

he starts to rummage for that thing he needs to find

straight out to the double carport

he grabs a can of lawn mower fuel

and lopes out onto the busy road

and right here: becomes a tool

cars on the road honk screech and swerve

as this me meanders to the middle

he raises his prize right above his head

and gives this can a really good fiddle

he prises off the child proof lid

and pours it all over his head

he shakes and soaks his entire body

time slows and shows the last future

he throws the empty can away

his face is empty and resigned

as he locks himself into this path

and commences this final pattern

reeking of two stroke

and desperation

he reaches into his pocket

and pulls out a lighter

a nice dry lighter

he sits down

cross legged

in the middle

of the road

a tiny smile

creases his lips

and then

one flick

one little

"flick"