All the empty vodka bottles.
Your then Boyfriend
Killing himself when
A pigeon crashed into
The window and slid down.
On a Friday, the music
Thumping from the
Dive below and we
Use diluting juice as mixer.
Spermy. Sperm whale.
Faker. No rhythm.
So the paint job never,
Got completed. Whoopee
Fuking ding dong.
The place was not
Fit for long term habitation.
Some people like to
Make a quick buck.
Ruined my favourite pumps.
Stretched them with
Entrenched sweat stains.
Just to be spiteful.
You were reading
Trainspotting again and
You quote sick boy.
Yes, I could question
YOUR moral compass old pal.
There was one thing
On your mind when
You said you were
Moving South to the city.
Your friend with benefits
Was a scoundral and then some
And his mum saw
That darkness in your heart.
At least you were,
More aware of it
Than your cousin
Who had their own affliction.
The saint who reported,
Me for petty scratches
On the car I helped to run.
When I walked away
From the place we bought
And payed for in conjunction
With not a dime.
You saw me. That
Was the whole point.
I can't think of one
Stand alone compliment you ever
Gave me when you
Were not after one thing.
And even then it,
Was simply on my body.