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there are good souls in this world
shrouded in weathered skin
dry and cracked
with scowls hung upon their face
balancing on the scars of their brow
just as there are bad souls in this world
hiding under plush skin
their faces adorned with kind eyes and
cherry red lips made for kissing
or spitting with rage

picture a gorgeous brunette
with fair skin, bold eyebrows
and her hair in a subtle
yet nineteen-thirties style updo
wearing a red chiffon summer dress
the sun beats down on her
as she glistens with light perspiration
espresso in-hand cigarette in the other
her pale soft skin no match for
the thirty degree heat outside
of this café she nonchalantly finds herself
she is the epitome of carefree beauty

she kicked her lovers dog outside this morning
exiling him to a six hour long toilet break
after she "forgot" she had let him out
before leaving to go shopping
whilst her feller finished his shift
because the dog is old and smelly
and gets almost as much attention as her
she even saw his pensioner neighbour
struggling to take the bins out
as she walked to her car
and laughed rather than help
because she always
thought Mary was a no good Jew
she even called her Mrs. Goldstein
"Have a nice day Mrs. Goldstein."
but Mary's surname is Cohen

picture this beautiful girl a siren
leading good men astray
she can get any man she wants
and plucks only the finest
most succulent
I mean successful
and well put together men
from gardens of bachelors
maturing in the hardships of city life
she has plenty choice but she's fickle
you see, her man has to be almost perfect
for it to be as enjoyable as possible
to watch his life unravel and unfold
into everything he wanted it not to be

achievable only through toxic beauty
her joy is venom soaked insides
of lovers caught in a sultry web
of lies, ambition and ***
she loves a scandal
or a text sent to the wrong person
and she has everything to hide
but does nothing to do so
she gets by just fine
being beautiful and sickening  
and sickeningly beautiful
you know the sort
she is a bad, bad girl
I wanted to write a poem
about the incessant discomfort
I always feel in my left eye
whenever my contact lenses
become old and dry
I thought about how it tickles
but scratches at the same time
and starts off alright
just a minor annoyance
but quickly, overtime
becomes almost unbearable
like my pre-school bully himself
is folding down one of my eyelashes
just enough for it to poke me
at the slightest movement
then I thought about how
I'd sooner write a poem about my life
and how it started out equally alright
and quickly, overtime became almost unbearable
as if my pre-school bully didn't do it right

so I found him in his adult life many years later
wife, two kids and a mortgage
yappy staffy-cross, two cars
and an alright job as a graphic designer
his garden full of gorgeous flowerbeds,
a full head of hair and a fading right hook
"MAKE ME FEEL **** LIKE YOU DID THEN."
a puzzled look on his face,
garden hose flooding his drive and the yappy
staffy-cross still yapping away
at the living room window
"I'M DEAD SERIOUS ANDREW,
NOTHING HURTS LIKE IT USED TO."
so he called the police
and I never got to feel young again
unless you count scurrying away from
a council estate under the threat of
a poor meal at Parkside police station
the rekindling of my youth

so this is my infomercial poem
about how not to confront someone
always be fully clothed
that's very important
avoid being drunk
any mind altering substance
is best avoided in my opinion
remember just because you care
just because you remember
does not mean anyone else does
oh and
don't eyeball craft beer when
you still have your contacts in
you know what?
-just don't eyeball craft beer
"don't come inside"
usually, in fact, almost always
I would pull out
with a split second to spare
and ******* all over her
turning her navel in to
some sort of overflow ***-gutter
proceed to roll over
panting like an old dog in the sun
roll a cigarette whilst she
wipes us both down with some nearby
toilet roll and suggest
we watch something on her laptop
this time was different though
I pulled out and she lays there
and starts tugging me off
entirely unnecessarily
as though both of our lives
depended on it
and I'm glad she did
I started spraying hot **** everywhere
and I think to myself
"I'm painting the ******* walls!"
it was nothing short of sensational
...
and it all seemed very Bukowskiesque
She sets down
her very large glass of Malbec
sighs and lights
a poorly rolled
******-like cigarette
the look on her face
bothers me deeply
I open my mouth
with good intentions
and probably should have
said something like
"Are you ok?"
but what came out
went something like
You are nothing to me
just an **** potato
there's almost nothing
that you could provoke
within anyone
except for the cats
Yeah,
I'd bet you could start
the feline revolution
with your poisoned toenails
and mashed carrots
not even seventeen vats of ****
could make you more slippery
No,
I don't want your wet cake
just bees,
endless mayonnaise
and cherry flavoured toxic yoghurt
...
"you can only pick 2" except I took all 9 pills and wrote this
take that Facebook
I am your soon to be
ex-con
so maybe we should get this
*** on
I'm mentally ill,
I think
but I'll ******* good!
I will sink
into your flesh
like a starved dog
since you will arrive
a saucy little minx,
a feisty platter,
a sultry dish
but surely leave
an unsatisfied,
unfortunate
and inconsolable mess
I suppose my fate
will upset you

unprepared
for what's to come
I will run
straight in to the arms
of the law
after all,
this world isn't mine anymore
and
it would be unseemly
to stay
when I'm looking at
a whole world of hurt
and a hefty price to pay
besides,
modern-day freedom
is an illusion
and
I'm bored of *** anyway
An absence of her presence
always leaves me feeling less
Companionless, friendless,
loveless and defenceless
Much, much, less than me
I'm thinking about us
every time you gently touch my hand
then look at me with soft loving eyes
glistening in the light as you ask me
"do you love me?"
you know that I do
but it's nice when you ask because
I get to tell you

"I love you more than anything,
you mean the world to me."

You know that's exactly what I'll say
but it's nice for you to hear and
it's so nice of you to ask
I love to tell you I love you
I fall short of words sometimes
except for when you ask because
I'm always good when you prompt me

The expectation is
everything should be easier
when you're in love
the reality is quite the opposite
but that's ok because love drives us
it drives us mad and around the bend
but it always seems worth it in the end
loving you has kept me going
and kept me strong for so long
even when I felt weak and out of place

It's always hardest when it's over
memories become haunting and
painful but in the most beautiful
reassuring way because it was
all ok at some point in time
a constant reminder that it could
be all ok once again, given time

It's alright to ask me if I still love you
the answer will always be
a resounding; "yes"
because I love you more than anything, you mean the world me
I only wish you would ask me again
but you know it to be true
that this love is too painful
and too much for me and you
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