Temptress

We
really
shouldn’t
do this

She
said

If it’s
something
you’ll
regret

I won’t
know
until
we’re
done

He
said

And I
haven’t
started
yet

I Wish I Could

I wish
I could
have made
you better

I wish
I could
have made
it go away

I wish
I could
have taken
the pressure

I wish
I could
have made
you stay

Robbed

I wish
we
could
have
spoken

Right
at
the
very
end

I’ll
miss
your
voice
forever

The
sound
of my
best
friend

Just A Child

It’s a
shame
you’ve
used him
as a
weapon

As a way
for your
feelings
of guilt
to lessen

But
it’s me,
you’ll
find,
that
he will
seek

When
he finally
understands
your
cruel
streak

Silly Arguments

Fuck
this
shit

She
said

I’m
going
home

I’ll
walk
you

He
said

You
can’t
go alone

I
don’t
need
you

She
said

Why
don’t you
just drop
dead

You’ll be
sorry you
wished for
that

He
said

When
you’re
alone in
our bed

Let’s Go Back

This was the wrong choice
Said the spider to the fly
I think we should return

I suppose you’re right
Said the fly to the spider
When will we ever fucking learn?

Random #18

‘You could have achieved so much more, if you weren’t so fucking insecure’

– Me

Promises

I promise myself
never again
every time
and every time
I believe it.

But the truth is
forgetting you is
a promise
I am powerless
to keep.

The Siren

I hear her calling my name,
Luring me to the murky depths.

Her song, beckons me.
Her promise, tantalises me.

I am compelled to listen.
I am urged to respond.

But she is all the way out at sea,
And I never learned to swim.

Two Day Hangovers

You can take a tablet to halt a head ache.
You can eat a sandwich to settle a queasy stomach.
You can sleep a while to revive your weary bones.

But the self loathing?

That shit lingers on inside your head for days. And there’s nothing you can do to help that.

God, hangovers are awful.

‘First Dates’

She awoke that morning to the sound of the bells. Those fucking incessant church bells that plagued her every Sunday morning. She opened one eye to the world and, as the daylight scorched her alcohol soaked retina, she quickly closed it again. Fucking tequila, she murmured. Never again. Yeah, right.

Then she remembered. Shit. She tentatively slid her hand across the mattress. She felt his presence before she heard his snore. Fucking tequila, she murmured again. Bollocks.

She took a deep breath and forced both of her eyes open to absorb the piercing light this time. The bells had stopped thank fuck. One less thing to deal with.

She sat up, carefully, and embraced the world. She wasn’t ready to wake the man whose name she had forgotten – or in truth had never known – just yet.

She crawled, with great difficulty, from the bed. Every bone feeling like a dead weight, she managed to pull last nights shirt over her head and stumble to the kitchen.

She took a glass from the draining board and filled it with ice cold water from the stainless steel tap. She revelled in the smooth taste cleansing her mouth, her throat and her head. She glugged down four paracetamol and proceeded to the bathroom to wash the lingering taste of the man from her mouth.

She looked at herself in the mirror. I look like I feel, she thought, and I feel like shit. Still, first things first. She needed to get this fucker out. Composing herself and her aching limbs she strode into the bedroom; clapping her hands loudly as she stepped.

‘Rise and shine sleeping beauty’ she croaked. ‘Time to go’. The mound of stale sweat, alcohol and drool lay motionless under the duvet. ‘I said come on motherfucker – move’. She shouted louder this time pairing her cry with a swift kick to what she hoped was his kidney area. The man whimpered as he rolled over on to his front.

‘Just come back to bed, babe’ he muttered sleepily.

‘Babe? Are you fucking shitting me mate? Just get the fuck out of my bed!’ She was shaking him now as he heaved himself upright. Dazed and confused he looked into her eyes, realisation slowly dawning that if he wanted to keep his testicles intact he’d better not argue. He hurriedly dressed as she shooed him out of the bedroom and pushed him out of the flat – the front door knocking him over as he pulled on his boots.

‘Well, thanks for that and everything. But I won’t be calling you again’ she snipped.

‘But, I..’ was all she heard before she slammed the door in his puzzled, but albeit pretty cute, face.

She stalked back to bed, vowing never to drink tequila again.
Yeah, right.

I(d)

Who knows why I do these things.
Even I don't know why I do these things!
I know they are stupid, pathetic and immature.
And yet I still do them.

I ruin peoples lives.
I fuck up people's lives because my life is fucked up too.
It's like a revenge I love to wreak, but feel guilty about,
later. When it's over.

I just don't understand myself.
I make these things happen.
I lure people into my trap, spit them out
and then ignore the consequences.
Sometimes I wonder why I drink too much, smoke too much
and delve into substance abuse...

It's to cheat myself from the truth.

I am a fuck up.
I am a fuck up who fucks up other people's lives,
just for the fucking sake of it.

You have no idea how bored I have become.
Of fucking that is.