You Are Not My Friend

Enveloped in cotton I fidget
revolving in my sheets,
stabs of light piercing the venetian blinds.
Bemused by last night’s journey home.

My core nauseous
from spent pleasure
and shame
from the night before.

I was there,
in full force.
Regaling unfamiliar ears
with the same stories.

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This Friday -As The Last

My eyes flee to all corners of my four walled hold,
liberation grasped through windows, stolen back.
Back to the luminescent glare of my old HP;
as I acquiesce to my paid servitude.

The week’s edge nears as time retreats,
the seconds absconding -drawing You ever closer.
Closer still, the embracing thoughts of Sunday’s sheets,
enveloping me –warm, contented, in your arms.

It Should All Go Wrong Pt 1

It should all go wrong,
we met in a place of false fronts and lying selves.
A glossy lieu, with suave social personas
titivated to an idealised reality.

Vollies of double ticked messages passed
and through their shallow blue
we were born to each other, rosey eyed
unaware of each other’s face.

We encountered in an entent fragile,
in a room sombre,
scented sweet with amber ale;
our social devotion weak and optional.

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Do you love me now?

One day you’ll love me when my name is known,
but for now you’ll see my soul emptied in my phone.
Asleep on the tube or awake at night in bed,
my thoughts pour fleeing from my chest to my head.
My heart purges thick oil from my core -it’s a start,
I pine for irreality and for the darkness’ depart.
I sign away joyous secrets and lamentful decisions,
avoiding your judgment to make an incision.
To your eyes open I’m paused -pregnant in wait,
for you to render me love’s stark fate.
With my name atop poems you’ll see and you’ll know,
to love me cause I’m playing on the radio.
I’ve signed faux-names to truths in futile admission,
for one day you’ll know me and release me from my prison.