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May 2, 2013


I see you across the trenches.
I’ve not seen you for a while.
Somewhat a lie I’ve told myself.
See you choking on a smile.
I throw pieces from the chessboard.
Searching for some small talk.
By the bar, my friends,and your friends.
Stand with scant regard.
Of the bones piling at their feet.
In this dim lit elephant graveyard.

And then I see you with this arsehole.
Another dead eyed dorsal fin, circling for a morsel.
Puckering in a photo.
That’s what they call foreshadowing.
Another blunt and boring motherfucker who won’t be there in the morning.
When it comes to picking poison, you’ve pared it to an artform.

And the wine and chasm calling.
Sent your head spiralling down your spine.
To the medulla oblongata.
You’re smart enough to know it’s lying.
“Maybe this one will stay a while?”
But you’d rather feel his hands falling on your body.
Than read the lines on mine.


From → Poetry

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