I wrote a note.

It was on the table.

At least it was.

When I left.

I opened the door.

That was hard.

The night air helped.

A little.

Left foot. Then the right.

It’s strange when you

have to remember

how to walk.

The pavement was empty.

Except for the trees.

Just me.

And the trees.

My heart pounded.

My walk felt strange.

Alien.

When I left.

Right. Left.

Pounding. Ache.

Fear. Pain.

Right. Left.

I didn’t look back.

My pain grew.

But one thing I knew.

It was right that I left.

Published here; http://inkyneedles.com/2013/04/06/i-left-by-tim-kerton/

Soup, beards,

trolleys, and rain.

Wet benches, words,

cackles, some pain.

Crusts, crumbs,

birds, and rain.

Stares, glares,

fixations, disdain.

Flaps, flutters,

birdshit, and rain.

Puddles, splosh,

gurgles, a drain.

Kindness, sadness,

feeding, and rain.

Begging, swooping,

commonality attained.

Gratitude, satiety,

repletion, and rain.

Bowls, spoons,

a soup is insane.

Bags, carts,

trees, and rain.

Grey, sky,

looms the crane.

Rolled, fags,

tobacco, and rain.

Smoke, breath,

enlighten a brain.

Ponder, pause,

pack, and rain.

Walk, push,

I’m back once again.