© 2019 All rights reserved. Iceberg Tales.

A Poem for the Witness (don't be sad)

 

 

Bed’s creaking.

He’s up.

Why are you still up?

He’s down.

Downstairs

 

 

Why do you feel so down?

-

Don’t you have work in the morning?

-

Clink clink.

Guts pour down.                                       TV blares.

Who said romance was dead?

 

Years and years under the same roof and I still don’t know how you like your eggs in the morning.

I like mine poached on sourdough with avocado

But you don’t wake up to know that.

You wake up every afternoon

With a frantic smile smacked on

Your teeth chitter chatter whilst I pitter patter

Out of the house

 

                                                      Out of your head                                                

and into mine

And out of our game of happy families

with the cards all slammed down

 

and s p i l l e d out and stained on the table.

There’s red marks on the table, that cost me ten hundred

There’s red marks on your arm, that cost me ten years.

 

I said I loved you

You said I loved you

Why wasn’t that enough?

                    Or I enough?

Wake up

 

 

Your love’s white stuff bottled up

(£7.99 in Sainsburys, £4.99 in Aldi)

And it s

             l

              u

                 r

                   s  down to places I could never hold

Never kiss

      Never touch

“They were on offer”

 

 

Which offer?

“2 for 1”

Two bottles for the price of one man.

“I said I loved him.”

Breathe in. Sip. Breathe out. Sip. sip. More?

 

“Listen, I’ll say this once, you need to be sure

You’re not the cause, you’re not the change, you’re sure as hell not the cure.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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