Another Day, Another Scribble

Sometimes I sit here,
staring at the blank page,
wondering what to write about
what’s rattling around in my head.
Is it something profound,
or am I just taking the piss again?
Sometimes I think I’m winding people up,
other times, I’m genuinely trying to say something.

I write when I’m happy.
I write when I’m sad.
I write when the world looks beautiful
and when it looks like the bottom of a bin,
Even if it might smell a bit crappy,
Sometimes it’s rage pouring out,
sometimes it’s a laugh at my own expense.
I never really know what’ll spill onto the page
maybe my heart, maybe just nonsense,
Unfortunately I won't apologise,
If my words are offensive,
maybe you the problem not me,
I said something about religious fella,
The other day while writing.

Someone told me in a comment,
“You’re going to hell. I’ll pray for you.”
“Brilliant,” I said, “save me a seat down there.
We’ll compare notes.”
It didn’t bother me
the offended always amuse me.
If they hate it, I say,
“Read it again or don’t read it at all.
I’m not writing for you, anyway.”
What do you want me to do ?
Say im sorry?
Never going to happen.

Faith? Oh, I toy with it,
poke at it,
hold it up to the light like a shattered bottle.
I’m not asking you to agree,
just asking you to think.
Otherwise, life would be boring, wouldn’t it?

Then there’s the poetry I read sometimes
half the time I think,
“What was this bloke smoking?”
Other times, I look at my own stuff and think,
“Maybe if I’d smoked something,
it’d actually be good.”
Where is that bloody muse when you need her?

The knock on the door the other day was priceless, though.
A couple of witnesses, chirping away:
“It’s your lucky day! You can be saved!”
Poor sods didn’t realize I’m already booked for hell.
“Come in,” I said,
“Tea? Oh, don’t mind the taste,
that’s just the poison.
Best get to hospital, hail the Dark Lord!”
They ran, of course,
and I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my tea,
a little dark I know,
but how else do i amuse myself when I'm fresh out of ideas to write about ?

That's when I tell myself, "Just another day."
What thrilling chaos will tomorrow bring?
While my blank page hungers for ink.
Another day to scribble in my mind.