Okay, this is prose rather than poetry but I hope that's acceptable - I never was any good at writing poetry :)
As I drove down a narrow country lane on this freak wet day I almost succeeded in fulfilling my secret ambition - to kill myself.
I think it may be a secret ambition because even now I won't admit it to myself. It's just that there's something about wet days that just makes me want to jump in the car and go as fast as possible. You see, I think the pinnacle of driving is to integrate man and machine. Feel the car move underneath you, the gripping and sliding of the tyres down on the road, the physical pressure up through the steering wheel and into your arms. The rain makes it more stochastic, more concentration is required to optimise the system. And sooner or later, you make a mistake.
I *was* trying to approach the corner carefully, aware that rain, cheap tyres and rarely used road doesn't make the most grippy of combinations. But as I braked and turned, the car started to slide. The next thing I was deep in the grass, tyre smoke drifting lazily accross my view. After sitting there for a second I drove back onto the road and went on.
Foolish I admit, yet I'm suprisingly unshaken by it and I know that sooner or later, I'll do it again.
And so I drove on up north, up to a small place on the English coast called Whiststable. It's a nice picture postcard kind of town - the beach is unpleasant and pebbly, but the Victorian houses and the general quietitude make it charming.
As I drove slowly through the narrow high street I was struck by the desire for love and security. How nice it would be to walk arm in arm with someone you cherish, happy in the company of each other's warmth. For me, a wet and grey sky is more pleasant than a summer's day if you're with a lover, peering into the storefronts and the vehicles passing by, safe in the knowledge that later you'll be a in a warm house, at ease in the company of someone you love.
But then I found the strength in myself to turn back, to come here and to try and close, through writing, what has opened.