SUCCESS ©Scott MacLeay.jpg




I once belonged to a group that disbanded just before I arrived and I understood that their absence in my presence was the silence I required

to move on before they did something I would regret…

or did I?

It was never perfectly clear if the reason they left before I arrived was to avoid the embarrassment of neglecting me or a simple acknowledgment of my irrelevance…

or both…or neither?

My acceptance by a group that no longer exited might seem like an odd situation to some

and yet it had a certain comfortable logic that filled a gap in my life in a way your presence did not…

or could not?

In any case, I chose not to move on and it was the right choice. I have to admit that we had fun all by myself.

I am not sure how to find that place again.




I am not what I see,

just what you feel.

You are me for a moment,

but I am not yours.

I am not what you think,

just how I feel,

but ever so briefly

even I am not mine.


This is not what I see

it’s an image you steal.

This cannot be me

it is just what appears

in a mirror of sorts

to reflect or abort

an instant belonging

to no one but you.


What I start

you finish.

Where you go

I am not.

This is my world,

a truth among many.

This is my life,

a lie among plenty.


This is our world

not happy, not sad

just empty or full

depending on moods

that live in a wind

of gentle despair

without grace or pardon

for the damage they do.


This is the end

of another beginning.

I can’t help what I do

or undo what I’ve done.

Be one with me

in twilight’s last breath,

I am naked confusion

disguised as a friend.






"I know what you are feeling." she said, looking down at the floor.

Anger mounting slowly I replied, "I know… … I know.” I repeated, almost believing myself…

but such petty deceit could not relieve the tension.

“I saw that look”, she lied. “I know what you are thinking” she touted, provoking the worst in me and revealing more of her cruelty and mine with every breath.


“Running over the dead is redundant, the idle pastime of refugees of the heart”, I mused…”just ignore her”

“I can’t “ I replied, and realizing I was speaking aloud, took a quick sip of a foamy companion.

“I dislike almost everything about you.” I muttered to myself, “you smell of musty darkness”.

 She walked away without a single hint of regret.


I was alone again, more wasted days and secluded nights of sorry stares from strangers, some baring fleshy gifts, ...

alone again in depths I grew to cherish so dearly that even I was afraid of myself. Sobering thoughts for a heart intoxicated by glory long gone.


“Bartender, one more foamy friend if you will”…the voice came from so deep inside me, I didn’t recognize it.

A blond hooker in the corner booth made eye contact and warm beer in hand, I sighed and turned away,

staring into the darkest corner of the room to ensure no further sharing would ensue…


Would have much preferred a whisky or a brunette

…but times are tough.


© Scott MacLeay from the collection of texts and images "Alternatives or Not"