Aug 2014
She helps him as he struggles, awakes of the cabbie’s pitiful stare,
Her man, her prince, again too drunk to care,
Leans for support, to stagger to the door,
He’s had too much, hanging out, aching to his core.
She doesn’t speak, just implores, ‘can you make it to the gate?’
Her eyes gaze on, as she wonders, how did it get this late?
Chris, Dave, Jack, Sam; he’s seen it all before,
One and the same, with the same poor girl, never wanting more.
He sees the care go all one way, until it’s thrown back in her face,
The words change up, a variable phrase, but always a bitter taste.
He bites his tongue, watches on, and sees the scene unfold again
Pretty dresses, different colours, where each hand leaves a sweaty stain.
‘He’s lovely, so sweet’ she says to her friends, ‘just some growing up to do’
Whilst inwardly wondering ‘is this it? Now the gilt’s worn off the new?’
Then one day she waits, he comes around, nothing to suggest what’s coming next,
‘I think we should break up’ he says. She stops, her feelings annexed.
Not a word, not a sign, he leaves without saying goodbye
Controlled, she waits until the door clicks shut, before breaking down and begging ‘why?’
This empty room holds no answers, chest hurts, eyes bleed, heart breaks.
Hoping and praying he’ll come back, that it’s all been a big mistake
Those final words, with no explanation, leaves her with ‘what about me wasn’t right?’
The hours pass, the tears subside, but that final question drags her into the night.
Next the phone call, the ‘I’m sorry, I miss us, all I can think of is you’
He begs, he cries, that final question, what do you want me to do?
She tells him she doesn’t know, but that he can fix it, he just has to work out how.
He doesn’t know, comes up with promises he’ll break and then one final vow:
‘I’ll call you tomorrow, when I’ve sobered up, and we’ll sort all this out’
With that she sleeps, content in the knowledge that he does care, after all.
Next day time passes, as the sun goes down her happiness dissipates
Until at last she accepts it, with that final question, ‘how did it get this late?’
Her man, her prince, again too drunk to care,
Leans for support, to stagger to the door,
He’s had too much, hanging out, aching to his core.
She doesn’t speak, just implores, ‘can you make it to the gate?’
Her eyes gaze on, as she wonders, how did it get this late?
Chris, Dave, Jack, Sam; he’s seen it all before,
One and the same, with the same poor girl, never wanting more.
He sees the care go all one way, until it’s thrown back in her face,
The words change up, a variable phrase, but always a bitter taste.
He bites his tongue, watches on, and sees the scene unfold again
Pretty dresses, different colours, where each hand leaves a sweaty stain.
‘He’s lovely, so sweet’ she says to her friends, ‘just some growing up to do’
Whilst inwardly wondering ‘is this it? Now the gilt’s worn off the new?’
Then one day she waits, he comes around, nothing to suggest what’s coming next,
‘I think we should break up’ he says. She stops, her feelings annexed.
Not a word, not a sign, he leaves without saying goodbye
Controlled, she waits until the door clicks shut, before breaking down and begging ‘why?’
This empty room holds no answers, chest hurts, eyes bleed, heart breaks.
Hoping and praying he’ll come back, that it’s all been a big mistake
Those final words, with no explanation, leaves her with ‘what about me wasn’t right?’
The hours pass, the tears subside, but that final question drags her into the night.
Next the phone call, the ‘I’m sorry, I miss us, all I can think of is you’
He begs, he cries, that final question, what do you want me to do?
She tells him she doesn’t know, but that he can fix it, he just has to work out how.
He doesn’t know, comes up with promises he’ll break and then one final vow:
‘I’ll call you tomorrow, when I’ve sobered up, and we’ll sort all this out’
With that she sleeps, content in the knowledge that he does care, after all.
Next day time passes, as the sun goes down her happiness dissipates
Until at last she accepts it, with that final question, ‘how did it get this late?’
