Oops, I woke up dead,
Reflected on what I'd done.
Picked up my pen,
began to write.

I had four children you know,
I was a selfish *****.
I spent no time on loving them
I really didn't  care.
Always put myself first.
Hell, I always do.
I'm such a witch.
Did *** and drugs and rock'n'roll,
Far too much to mention.

Then I met him,
A crazy kind of love,
but true love nonetheless,
The first time ever,
A feather in my cap for me.
Wasn't a notch in his bed post,
He swore he loved me too.
I know he did,
Never will he admit his love to any soul bar mine.
But he loved his whisky better.
He's still my friend.

Praise be.
After spilling poison buckets, filled with animosity.
Apologies given in metaphoric kisses,
well they made amends.
After the nonsense, still friends
Friends will do.
It'll have to.

He wrote reams of poetry,
Rather more than me.
I wrote books, because I love it.
You know I really do.
And then the sky fell in,
I'd  missed the most important thing.
And now here I lay,
Cold as stone,
Thinking what have I done.
I have given birth to many,
but, only thought of one.
At this point I say sorry,
Wipe away an icy tear.
Smile slightly breaking through.
I miss you all my dears.
(c) Livvi