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paul-hornePoems
As the man says, there’s only one winner in love, never try to patch things up with well-meaning words, I’m bored of this double life, single cream, easier to swallow taken what I need, not enough to scratch this itch need a man with means not a boy with dreams someone to pamper, not hamper, full stop. No point lying, trying to dress them up feel better than they really are, were they really that sharp I’d be staying, not straying displays of loyalty just not what they need, the inevitable is, and don’t look back, euthanise quickly before soothing moods, worm and warm, fertile comforts change your mind slip on the slippers, pipe and hat... Normal, ordinary, insanity for this, sensually a negative charge, nothing I crave less, no drug can replace what’s missing, adventure, the missing gene, no money, no trinket in all the world, when between the ears is tumbleweed, drifting. So, what starts with a swipe turns to a tumble ends with a chain to the bed, around sweet neck, and a text, “it’s not me, it’s you, we’re done."
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Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 6:34 PM UTC
Alpha
As the man says, there’s only one winner in love, never try to patch things up with well-meaning words, I’m bored of this double life, single cream, easier to swallow taken what I need, not enough to scratch this itch need a man with means not a boy with dreams someone to pamper, not hamper, full stop. No point lying, trying to dress them up feel better than they really are, were they really that sharp I’d be staying, not straying displays of loyalty just not what they need, the inevitable is, and don’t look back, euthanise quickly before soothing moods, worm and warm, fertile comforts change your mind slip on the slippers, pipe and hat... Normal, ordinary, insanity for this, sensually a negative charge, nothing I crave less, no drug can replace what’s missing, adventure, the missing gene, no money, no trinket in all the world, when between the ears is tumbleweed, drifting. So, what starts with a swipe turns to a tumble ends with a chain to the bed, around sweet neck, and a text, “it’s not me, it’s you, we’re done."
Written by
paul-horne
57/M/Cardiff
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 6:34 PM UTC
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