Lyrical Musings an emotional journey via train of thought

Until Next Time

December 29th, 2017

It comes


Or none

a t a l l

there is no in between

and nothing we can do

feast or famine.

Personally, I prefer a feast,

that is, until I have gorged,

reached such gluttony

that I feel sick — to my stomach and of the sight

of the plate or, in this case,

the words

that I have eaten or writ or swallowed (like my pride).


I would scream if it weren’t so damned impolite

Instead, I push away

the plate or the screen.

I excuse myself from the venue

and swear off the glut.

Until next time.

Next time, when I cannot control myself,

or is it that I will not?

Perhaps I’d rather regret indulgence

than experience nothing at all.

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