the silk won't stop you
it'll only act as a soft-to-touch glaze for a scar yet to form
and by all means fall over into pretty positions
but don't blame the alcohol.
That breezer-pint-shot-and-gill in your limp right hand
is a mask: a tied at the back ribbon to cover up your desired task of falling into the arms
of him,
or him,
or him,
or him,
or him over there.

just because drama school and it's endless auditions
didn't let you in, doesn't mean this Wetherspoons should either:
take a knee
have a breather

When my mother is tired, I offer to make her tea. She wants a beer, and even though I don't like it, I pour it for her anyway.

When my mother is tired, I offer to make her fried chicken. She says she doesn't want me to cook for her.. 19 years of cooking my meals and she doesn't want me to cook for her.. So I put in two pieces of toast and burn it just how she likes it and put on extra butter because I know she likes that too.

When my mother is tired, I tell her to call me on her bad day, tell her that even if I do nothing but sit there, it'll be okay because she doesn't have to face the sadness alone.

When my mother is tired, her eyes make triangles and her shoulders slump and she smiles so hard that I think it must hurt her jaw bones. The spirit of her eyes goes dim and her forehead forms creases like mountains and when my mother is tired..

I just want to see her sleep and dream. She so deserves to dream.