Forgiveness Rock

I forgive me, I forgive you too. Whatever you done it was justified by blue.

And now we can create something new.

Bent out of shape and reeling from yet another blow? This is the forgiveness we love and know. Love because it is so dear to us, so close to who and what we are. And know because it’s happening now. Revenge and sweetness. Bliss follows. Because. Of. What You. Did.

Follow on and through, we are both bleeding from our love and sorrow. Like roses losing their petals to a foul wind we walk on heads down. Glowering at the sky. Who is walking by? Strangers? Or people on the inside? Are they on your side or just nobodies? Pray in silence and hope for forgiveness. And victory. Now you are so far down the road or should that be ‘we’. Other people are used like matchsticks to start a fire here and there or to put one out just in case we get caught. We can deny it all. What evil plan? I improvised. I deny all knowledge. Prove it! You dig your own trench and put the gun in my hand. All I have to do is squeeze and BANG! It’s all over. But I want justice not revenge. I want you to know it was me. By my hand. Cool as you like. I dispatched you to the next life. But then you’re dead! It’s not fair!

Behind us is the evil that men do but there’s more in front too. And to the side. Eyes smiling wide inviting you in like a Venus Flytrap. A fly. Curious. Eaten alive. Digested by processes unknown.

Behind us is the blame for what someone did at some time. probably. Behind us is the reason for the pain. Forget yourself.Behind me. Get behind me Satan. I will go on without you and then destroy you at my will. At my leisure.

Hang on were friends and you are allowed to pull the wool over my eyes on the understanding that I will rip out your soul if you get caught.

Revenge is for dummies. Parries. Thrusts. Judders backwards and forwards. Sport for all.It’s all a mental game and we can just run. If it gets too close to home. Run away. behind. Behind. Behind. Behind. What foul corpse are you to hold a grudge? When it was you who threw the first punch? Loser. Friend. Mate. Behind in time and not forgotten. But not always. Insert paranoid silence and attach significance. And you image springs to mind your shadow your fingerprint. Your hair. It’s you there smiling. Again I wither. Behind me are those times. Behind me are those times. Behind me are those times. Now we can look to the future with no blame.

Until next time.




Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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