The writing’s on the wall
In purple marker, scrawled in messy writing
By a girl who drank before she wrote her words
‘David is a dick’, in a sloping line.
She maybe cried as she perched upon the seat,
Feeling like a tragic maid in her party clothes.
Those words, they sing to me, in my sober haze,
That hurt that burnt the edges of her heart
May well have soothed by now, by another man,
But she has left her permanent mark,
Her anger poured out through the ink,
Her girlfriend speaking words of wisdom through
The gap within the door. She knows it hurts,
We all know that, but it will pass I think
As I add my own words to the chipboard wall.
I love reading graffiti that has been left behind before me. Most people see it as vandalism but I see it as people adding layers of stories to something that would otherwise remain pristine and bland.
When we visit Thorpe Park I see so many people who have left behind their Instagram and Twitter handles on the walls where we queue. I’m always tempted to look them up and see what they are like. I find it kind of cool that we can actually see people who have been in the places that we have been.
And then there is the old school scrawl on bathroom doors that claim Becky and David are going to be together 4eva. I sit and read them and wonder if these people are still together. For all I know they may not even be alive anymore. Our lives have just intersected in that one bathroom and then they carry on.
It’s probably a bit of a weird thing that I find so interesting but it’s a bit of modern day history going on right before our eyes. That bathroom door may end up in a museum one day and people will marvel at the scrawlings of us primitive humans that lived in 2021.