
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.”