i struggled not to love you,
and it pained every inch of my soul

"HIYA BUD!"

Saw you coming out of
the Co-Op today.

Buying milk.

And there you were
in the Post Office.

Buying a first class stamp.

We  both
just smiled.

You pulled up
at the petrol pump.

Filled her up.

And there you were
taking the bus.

One way.

We both
just waved.

I was surprised because
the Co-Op was in London.

The Post Office
in Gozo.

The bus going to
Dublin.

The petrol pump
in Guildford.

Now you're dead
you appear

everywhere at once
at anytime

walking into my mind
with a smile and a wave.

Everyone seems
to wear your face.

We do the same old joke
we always did before.

"Brother we
can't go on

not meeting
like this!"

Seems like everywhere we go
there we are.

We laugh.
And hug.

☞☎
It's quite easy
To pick up
The phone...
Please?

You can always tell a self destructive writer
By their poetry

Because sometimes they are redundant
And other times they are expressing pain

But they always tell a story of being hurt
And locked into their own head

But this my dear, is why they write
Because the person in their head is trying to get out

Self destructive writers
Are usually dark

But when they are light
They tell you how perfect you are

So that you don't do the same thing
That they did to themselves

Self destructive writers
Don't want you to make their scars
On your arms