I went to Scratby one stormy night,
But not to enjoy a walk, on the sand, by the moon’s milky light.
I drove in a fog and welcomed the rain,
Blasting out Nirvana, full of bitterness and rage.

Parked up on the clifftop as I watched the waves spill,
Wondered what would be quicker, the fall or wet chill.
Dangled my legs for a while, over the crumbling edge,
With all the ‘I’m useless’ thoughts that had entered my head.

Then I saw a lone man, walking his old dog on the sand,
And thought if he could push forward, then I most certainly can.
Although I know not about him, just an assumption that I make,
I didn’t want to leave others lonely, to struggle in my wake.

So I dusted myself off and got back in to my car,
You have obligations, you don’t get to choose when’s au revoir!‘.
I remind myself I was strong, it was positive what I concluded,
But I can’t shake the guilt of the action to which I alluded.

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