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Olivia Kent Jun 2016
Into a spot wedged tight and neat.
As if a sardine into a tin..
Shaking so violently under my skin.
In a quandary, jammed in tight,
That each days' morning runs into the night.
Everything's wrong.
Something's not right.
Where to go from here I fear.
I need to stop and to reflect.
A broken heart that beats bereft.
Right is good.
No choices left.
What to do ?
(C) LIVVI
I will become food for the worms
and they'll take it in turns
to feed on my flesh

I will be a creche for their young
what fun,
can't wait.

But
It won't be me there
so why should I care?

It'll be the suitcase that carried me
from point A
to point B

Still food for the worms though
and that's a thought to think upon
when I'm gone.
Olivia Kent Jun 2016
Pull up your trousers sonny.
Your looking mighty gormless.
Pointing out honestly, good god you look a mess.
You bottom looks inviting to a wanton wayward, crooked fella.
Looking really silly, I know that I can tell ya.
Don't want to insult you nor to break your heart.
(c)LIVVI
Olivia Kent Jun 2016
Sparkles, pollen sprinkles.
My how the garden grows,
Pink flowers, diminutive blue flowers, only periwinkles.
Smell the scent of garden flowers wafting neath thy nose.

Bumblebees and honey pots.
Flowers and foliage.
Red and orange, pale love it lingers, forget me nots.
Garden flowers, wild flowers, sunny skies, all the rage.

Butterflies and honey bees.
Alighting on the petals bright.
Bees with pollen sacks, strapped around their knees.
Keeping the garden growing right.

With but a dash of rainwater, flowers tended by thy daughter.
Flowers in the precious garden growing as they ought ta.
(c)LIVVI
Olivia Kent Jun 2016
Not doing so good today.
A mountain of bills that won't go away.
Snowed under.
In debt, in moments of doubt.
Haven't got  money, doing without.
Work like a *****.
Daytime and night.
Suffocating in bills.
Dying of fright.
Getting too heavy.
Where is the light.
Cruising through a tunnel.
Bones are all piled up.
Covered in skin.
There is just darkness.
Never will I win.
(c)LIVVI
Olivia Kent Jun 2016
The smartest of suits, short legged.
Attached to a pair of brightest white sneakers.
And I think it's going to rain again and the woman dressed in green, is the probably the prettiest I've ever seen, maybe she's Irish.
Like me she's on her way to work.
It's six a.m, but she doesn't look a berk.
Unlike the chap in the suit wearing brightest whitest trainers to work.
Me, in my navy blue trews with royal blue tunic, with a really long coat, to cover the garments, big trouble if I don't.
Work is often troublesome.
Yesterday no exception .
Think I'm going to be giving in.
Governed by finances,
Solo managed romances.
Think I need a rich man wearing bright white sneakers and classy suit.
(c)LIVVI
Olivia Kent May 2016
He read it to her the night before he passed.
As if he knew perhaps, that night would be his last.
He sloped to off bed, ready for sleep.
Did he know that she would weep?
Perhaps his will, a potent portent of the state of failing health.
7 am on Wednesday, bought all sorts of woe.
Maybe he knew it was his time to go.
She sauntered into his room.
Curtains pulled, darkness called.
A room of gloom.
Death, descended unexpectedly.
Peacefully sleeping.
Eternally.
(C) LIVVI,
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