Tell me when,
We will never speak of
Soft things again.
Of ice-cream in the
Park and holding hands.
Then... I’ll be chewing
Pins and blades
And hurting friends.
Pissing my name
Into the sand.
‘ Deck, the wreck,
with his neck
unpecked in months.
Needing always needing.
Feeling always feeling.
Bleeding always bleeding
From somewhere where he
Can fit his hand into
The wound, feeling
For his heart,
His soft
Unsought after heart-
Festering with prejudice,
Jealousy and self-pity.
How accomplished?
Tell me when,
We will never speak of
Soft things again.