Clinically depressed
the clinic's a frickin mess
clinician's under stress
popping patients' cipralex
at her dinky off-white desk
still wearing last night's dress
reminiscing on the days
when she just tried her best

Head won't give it a rest
wishing she'd failed the test
could have been an insta queen
at least got in on the tiktok scene
instead she feels bereft of the chance
to take a breath

She'd rather take a slap
than see another fat smackhead
but she has to pay the rent or
start living in a tent
"It's a living"
that's her mantra
written on the pens
and every one they send
is another couple cents

So she just pretends that
what she does makes sense
punters in
prescriptions out
no time to make amends
patience measured in pence
she can potentially spend
perpetuating searches for
that promised happy end

Almost tattered with oil spots and all
when it was gifted I really can't recall
the colors are faded the surface rough
but in my possession is no better stuff.

The smell is old with layers of years
wiped bath water, sweat and tears
rubs me tender whispers sweetly
in love with you please don't leave me.

My old buddy without a name
hugs my skin covers my shame
post the showers it's been my muse
still not useless from years of use.

Why it's so special why can't I leave
the torn old thing holds love I believe
the touch of love that's never really gone
in a parting gift from the father to the son.

Loving you
means accepting
all the dreams
you are
not

Is better,
Than a bitter truth,
If it saves a marriage,
Or a life.
29/6/2024

Not all the nights were moonlit bright
the darker ones fed upon our fright
buried in depth lay the lonely souls
bones still alive eyes burning coals.

Nights on which moon dimly shone
feebly glowed those marble stones
with names etched of young and old
songs lost forever stories never told.

We talked in whispers lest the dead awoke
soldiers' graveyard life snuffed in smoke
buried in uniform now one with the soil
past all glories win's reward loss's toil.

Night lengthened wind's moan arose
the watchman called it's time to close
the living must go awaits their home
tombstones part for the dead to roam.

Flaunt your joy
Dig your sorrow
You have only today
Who knows 'bout morrow!