1: “could you not pick your nose in front of me?”
2: “I'm not picking, I'm scratching.”

And then, utter silence.
The hourly routine of the sitters.
Warm and clear or humid and foggy,
their day always manages to be bare and cold.
With their unpleasant sets of ashy, unwashed heels, broken through the years, the numbers untold.

Watching all that is theirs.
For a benchwarmer is a proprietor of anything that keeps abet, his deepest fears.
The greatest fear, failure, being the most aggressive,
jabs and hammers on his itchy, small, frictionless small back like an overturned adhesive.


For once upon a memory so distant ago that its credibility is askew,
Were men who had dreams and hopes, to awake to the feel of the morn’ dew.
Men who, have long since settled into their nichey existence.
Men who were once the go-to for persistent consistence.

we sit quietly here, fretting

over nothing in particular.



some bemoan their lot,

others get on with it willingly.



stop and have a cup of tea.



while others walk in #ice and mud,

while others #drown,

while others #starve.



without a #cup of tea.



sbm.

those fun times we had
quickly turned to memories
like water through our hands
notice time began slipping
and if only we had caught ourselves
then maybe we wouldn't be here
where we are now.

maybe we'd be somewhere completely different
somewhere on the other side where the grass is greener.

Depression has me longing for the day that you walk out of my life again because atleast then i'll know why i'm hurting. Life drains me of my soul; you are pumping a desert, demanding water. I love you with everything i have. I hate the way you abuse it.