The Raffle
I wunna raffle
earlier,
Grin couldn’t be
pearlier,
Not normally a
Gambler.
But the croupier
was winking at me;
older, cute and wrinkly
got me thinking
that tonight could
be a winner.
Crowd were edging,
hedging, chocolate orange
over meat selection.
Clawed for ticket,
rheumatic,
rumours spreading
that its
just a fucking fix.
​
Eyes met
the surprise, honey
when spending
all of my prize money
on buying her
a drink.
Eyes twinkling,
blinking,
taxi, back to mine.
She took me by
surprise.
Tea bag saggy eyes,
wolf in sheep
disguise
Pink sheet,
pound for one
strip for £5.
lonely.
​
There seems to be a theme.
​
Eyes locked eyes in mired,
mucky puddle.
Broken by a sinking size 8
Shivering, like the last ripple.
Could have been the cold.
Loneliness is a midweek meander
Attempted cure to the cancer of conflicting scheduels.
Like a wet floor sign
in the middle of a meal time McDonalds queue,
A totem-pole tripping hazard
Mouthing soft apologies to deaf determined ears.
Nothing but a big bag of useless experiences,
Lying dormant in the corner
Flicking through a life time
knowing nothing applies
Sit back, smile wryly
behind eyes,
Knowing every on of your stories
dont seem to mean much anymore
I feel like dropped cake,
or a ship bound cat.
Doubt
She spent years
building walls so high,
of other peoples lives.
People pleasing came easy,
laugh & nod along.
Let their voice tell your story
‘Oh same thing happened to me’
Snippet brickwork built
the bravado.
A patch work uniform
that never quite fit right.
Relationships fade
when the scratch card
patches are scratched
to reveal no Jackpot
matching symbols
because facts aren’t checked
She would knee jerk react,
tell em all to fuck off,
they don’t know you
or what you say you’ve been through,
but
then
which bits are true
was it you?
I cant
quite
remember
Who?
am I?
Lost
as if down a well
snatching for flashes
of flickering light
to catch a glance
of her patch work life
the false-hooded cloak
of failed starts,
and veiled in her patch work
Is her broken heart.
​
She’d snap back
catty, cut you off
push away.
alone unhappy
WILL
YOU
FUCK
OFF
She thrives for attention
desparate to relate
but it leads to; desertion,
loathing, self-hate.
Self inflicted deprecation constant state of isolation
complete and total annihilation.
Of self
Self?
My worthless me.
Me?
thats all
I’ve ever wanted.
really
An identity
Some one I can call
me,
and mean it.
She repeats the same story,
scratched, lost, discarded.
Addicted to the fickle,
she sews seams
of a patchwork
out of oddments of lonely,
broken hearted.
She takes scraps
sews them up,
but never quite covers
the gaps.
Dental.
There's something quite empowering
bout shouting
'WHIP THE CUNT OUT'
to a man
you've just met
Knee on chest
£60 on NHS
Only walked in for a checkup
Tickling my ivories
Sebastian Bach on plaque
and black
amalgam keys
Next week 'hygienist
please'
​
It's the noise I don't like
​
I remember being told
a story of a lad who
peeled his fist
It became
the basis
of a
vow
I would never try acid.
​
That never lasted
​
​
Is it in?
You look up all puppy
Eyed But a like a child
Chewing playdoh
You spit out the
Limp shrimp
Confused that it doesn't taste how it looks
It happens to all the guys
You imply
"Its not you, it's me" I reply
"Please don't cry"
Willy full of Whiskey
Maybe
Frisk me
Try tickling
Slip a finger in
But don't frown
That the angle
Of my dangle
Still Down
It's my state of mind sundial Dysfunctional
Un fuckable
Try thumbing it
But we both know
At this point
A kick start won't
Defib
This unbeating heart
"Is It in yet?"
Im sweating
"Naaa"
You flash a nip slip
Initiate death grip
Beat hard
Like an Inbetweeners
Scene
Im keen
But my weiners a
fucking fiend
for fucking about
I stare at your clout
Eat you out
But still
NOUT
Pantene
No V tonight
Weak limp lifeless
"Why do you drink so much?"
Try scaring me
Actually that's hiccups
Flick my nips
Fuck this shit
We could try again in the morning?
Is that it?
I'm snorring
Must be.
