You said our futures don’t match.
You said you Love me,
But you never mentioned the catch
22, 44 or 48.
‘Cause it was 48 hours till I could sleep again.
44 hours till I stopped playing our song
And 22 reasons in my head to never let you go.
But here you go again
Rattling around my brain;
Determined to steal my thoughts.
Dreaming up all the demons that will share your bed now.
Daydreaming the future you promised with lips that leak integrity.
Remembering those eyes that pierced the heart I gave far too easily.
It was just too soon;
Jumping on the joyride without so much as a helmet.
Rear-ended and fucked in the arse by hope.
Eyes cut out by truth and replaced with happiness.
Tongue placed in a straitjacket and shocked into madness.
Finance sacrificed for care as my wallet bleeds into the streets.
Veins injected full of belief and hollowed out, seeking another fix.
Contemplations of pacifying lustful urges on the platform of sorrow.
And yet I remain socially integrated while my mind wanders.
Like the child in the streets.
Like the geriatric infused with the caffeine of dementia.
Like the sociopath set for the kill.
Like the lonesome boatman of Irish lore.
Like the Gypsy under flash flood and thunder.
Like the puritan beneath the steeple.
Like the herd among the stars.
Like the comets painted upon the miasma of space.
Like the chromatin, sperm and rapturous cock between the sheets.
Like the homeless weary of Tory Britain.
Like the innocent’s slaughtered for rich man’s war.
Like the oil beneath unsuspecting communistic feet.
Like the oil fracked by their capitalistic counterparts.
Like 1000 tiny worker ants.
Like 1000 tiny worker ants of the NHS hive.
Unlike their queen who taxes their harvest to feed her furnaces, banks, off-shore account and third home.
Like the sadistic workings of paedophilic posh boys of Eton.
Like the diarrheic mouths of racists, fascists, sexists and bigots alike.
Like the tantalising turpentine tongues of political heretics.
Like 100 swarming bees; the last of their kin.
Like 1000 wasps to sting in their place.
Like 10,000 lies told in the houses of parliaments.
Like 100,000 homes promised on the tide of tomorrow.
Like 1,000,000 coral stripped white through global warming.
Like the infinite tonnes of toxins we pour into the sea.
Alas, I digress.
Upon rooftops with book in hand I will read away my memories.
Colliding fiction and reality to take away the pain.
With song in lungs pursued by abrasive bardic reciting’s,
I purge the dioxide, the smoke and smog-filled poisons we now call air
Into an atmosphere suited more to nuclear reactions than to raise a child.
With or without you, the future holds a grim outcome, so without further ado, I retire.
To sleep and wake to the morning’s undulating tide refreshed;
Ready to forget you all over again.