Repetitive Beats

I remember the panic house music raised,
torn smileys and cops on the front of the NME.
BBC radio banning use of the word acid,
repetitive bleats of scaremongering in the news.
It was the last year I had hair
until the beats in my head,
became voices that made me
get it all shaved off.
My Mom didn’t speak to me for two days,
said I looked like I’d had chemo,
now she doesn’t remember the story.
It’s funny really how in spite of all
the monumental changes going on,
our minds go back to the little things,
the small moments that define our life.
Tiptoeing round our family,
when all we really wanted to do
was rant and rave loud enough
to be heard.

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