Four Posts

Sat among flowers and trees
With two cares, no fears
And a whistling breeze
Sharp to the ears and soft on the soul
Whatever that is

Identity is a state of mind
And it’s all psychology in the end
Disconnect and drop off, drip-fed
Emotion, like little blue pills
Ground up into your dinner
With all the kibbles and bits
To keep you calm

We all have memories
But we’d better keep them that way
And not let them loose on our hopes
Dreams and other creations
Our notions we hold dear, hold tight
As we hold our dearest in the dimmest of light

We turn to the line of ghosts
Who linger too long by
Bedroom four posts
Groaning and moaning
Some more than the rest

Wearing yesterdays clothes
Shuffling and scuffling over
Polished oak floor, digging ethereal
Heels into the rug

They all have stories to tell
Of another mans life
Long ago and barely remembered
Through the haze of cigarette smoke
And half bottles of gin

Make a man into a monster
And set him loose on the beast
To be rid of the pain of being a cliche
So strangle the ghosts and ghouls
And repeat finer written words
Or more succinctly selected phrases

Be all, end all and go strangle a
Swan for the third and last time
One care voiced and the other
Drops like porcelain, shattering into shards
Sharper than glass, duller in hue

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Flavour

It’s funny how things work out
She offered as her lips delicately traced
The long edge of the thin paper
And soft fingers rolled it expertly into a small stick

Chapped lips and yellowed teeth
Teasing, tasting the words more than the nicotine
Watchful eyes wandering across my care – etched
Face, faltering as I stuttered and stammered what

Little I could, blinking blindly into the sunrise with my
Legs dangling limply over the seawall
Struggling to process
She noticed the blink

It’s kinda bright here, dontcha think
Should we walk or stay sat here
Politeness, a kindness
Sincere, no veneer
But it mattered not

Who is it, what is it
There’s no-one, it’s nothing
But that’s kinda the point
We both knew there was a shelf life
To love life, an expiry to the perspiring
The sweat drenched wild nights

When they’ve come and gone
And seen their best days fade
Frankly, it’s, well not a drag
She took a drag of the fag
Breathed in, drew down
But time waits for no-one
Not us

And what have we got
Some laughter, some banter
And that’s just our lot
It’s not you or me
It’s us
This
Right here
Just doesn’t do either of us any favours
When neither is each other’s
Flavour of the month

She turned to me
With eyes black as jet
Soft lips formed a final word
Cigarette?

Fatalistic

What if, what if i never make it out of this alive
I ask her
Would you mourn for me or carry on in ignorance
Not allowing my demise to affect your poise and countenance
She laughs and smiles, flashing her yellow teeth

You’re so fucking fatalistic, she replies
Without truly understanding the word

I push harder. Would you even care if I died?
Followed you around,
Screaming agonised declarations on the afterlife
Would you even care?

She smiled once more.
I would be distraught, she whispers.
And I’m startled to note the sincerity in her voice
Then I scream. Why won’t you fucking love me?

Because, she says, stubbing out a cigarette
On the tabletop, you’re so fucking fatalistic
And our time has passed