No one tells you
That loneliness hurts
That you can feel emptiness
That your heart can physically ache
They don’t explain to you
That your body knows you’re alone
It hurts more than you can describe
It burns until you can’t take it
But by that point
You’re a freak
You’re so far gone
No one will want you
You’re broken now
You’re damaged goods
So the only antidote to the poison
Of being all alone
Is pushed further and further out of reach
The longer you suffer

Writing poems
With the ink of my tears

I think it's Monday
it used to be Monday
I'm sure it's Monday
but it could be
a fried egg.

The cats have gone
the table's bare
the cards were marked
the dogs are going spare
and
they're selling me in antique shops
along the 'Lanes' of Brighton,

it's not fair
it used to be Monday.