My weary eyes widened when


Your silver tongue slits my pale neck


Thus, I sank my fangs below your ear to


suffice my blood drunk.


As the edge of your dagger trod back and forth on my skinny wrist.


Dead as the night.


Where the moon sheds her aging skin as I peel my own.


We were occupied with such ardor


like a peculiar kind of intimacy.


~


I turned away after that,


Left you with the aftermath


I faced the light to cast a shadow


where you chose to dwell and


might as well make perforations on my back.


She said she loves me


but all I ever felt was antipathy


~


If I can just sew my lips to my inner most thoughts to


obviate myself from forming a lie


But, I can’t.


You said ‘sing to me sweet’, so I sugarcoated every

word that came out from my fraudulent mouth


I was just in it for the thrill.


~


The stars I put up in your sky were fake


Life is nothing but a masquerade and


you didn't fell for a prince charming.


Because the rainbow I showed you was just the smoke from my

Sobranie.

cigarette ashes
fly on the wind,
as i stare at my black coffee,
it gazes back at me.
black sobranie,
and i debate;
of all the people,
i find it hard to see
is there something
worth seeking.
just like dust,
i let them go
i never looked back
let them think i'm bore.
you may be
a world unseen,
yet i am so tired
no words flow well enough.
i'll just go lose myself
in paint and doubt
while i stare at my coffee,
and flit around.

I've been the best of it and the worst of it, I've
been blessed and I've been cursed by it and it
never knew me
at all.

On the plus side by the wayside, they've ignored me and it suited me,
invisible and yet there,
no one saw me,
I didn't care.

Now I'm ancient, almost a monument to the hard days, the back door through the yard ways and I am still a part of it whatever it can be.

When the time comes on the day that the sun bursts
I'll be first in the queue
looking at you
looking at it.

Monday was the languidly curling wisps of steam
the cup of tea you didnt drink

Tuesday was the pale clouds hovering to the waves roaring
trying to keep up with your heart's beating

Wednesday was the phone you left uncharged the night before
your lover who left before you saw

Thursday was the lazy morning the window panes foggy
you woke up 10.00am your vision still hazy

Friday was sobranie
sweetly sickly you try to drown your worries

Saturday was the night sky starless
you sat beneath it, sleepless

Sunday was the low rumbling of the train tracks
blue skies turned into black

She purchased a Trilby hat in lieu of a Stetson
Her shoulders seemed to stoop
whenever she lit her famous Sobranie.
The rolling countryside always felt like despair
more bramble than Strawberry Fair
She found herself in New Brighton, bracing the sea air
a sought job in a Mobile Fish and Chip Van
was assuredly the Lisa Presley way.
But her heart hankered for Hull, the dare was brazen
to  partake in a  Photography class
to record civil disobedience.
Perhaps a suitable hat
would be a beret
for that inveighed look
our dear Sandra McClain.

For a moment
or maybe it was for a lifetime,
difficult to remember, but
this Heraklion tuna helps me to forget
what if it was longer though
and down I go
into the catalogue, back into
the long winded and whining winding
monologue.

I talk to the empty halls when the bedroom walls get fed up with it and sit on the verandah with a spiced *** and Sobranie.

It was a lifetime
I remember now
and how it was,
I'll forget again,
funny
how the mind erases the pain,
like having a baby
I suppose.

I suppose mostly
firstly because
it's easy
and supposing doesn't cost me
the price of a
conversation.

Just remembered
I never had
Heraklion tuna at all.