Always a little better than he pretends
And a little worse than he wishes, my friend,
Saying words that should be written down,
Displaying a smile that is often a frown.
He lives a public privacy many have experienced
But very few have liked,
All the time searching for her or for him who will
Help to replace his lovely, lovely pill.
Penning things down illuminates
His grey – grey that can only fully be
Shown on pages of black and white;
This is his ink and pad’s quiet might.
Sometimes I think he evades feeling content,
Is afraid of what would happen if he stopped spilling misery.
I suppose this would dim the frightening light
Of his constant companion – his ink and pad’s quiet might.