Love less -a pense poem
it won’t hurt much
scrub off the scent of his odour
bleach the bath with your morning shit
love costs more heartache
Passion less magical
Cats demand cuddles
A clean page soaked in wasted words written in yellow ink
The music falls on deaf ears
Unread unopened books will let me down – or will it be my imagination?
I glance around the room of despair comfortably numb for three hours until a child smiles for her mom’s unfounded fears.
so inept by a blackened imagination
colours wither away, winter outsmiles
stilled yet not frozen. those exhiled frowns en route stragglers exhiled to Siberia.
I’m desperately desolate that these nightmares took the by pass . Limits to hope of revelling in reality once more spring
bursts into a yawn , light stretches worn out clinging onto last winter’s stained sweater.
A scream demands tending to kettle whistling for it’s masters attention
it begs summer to part with mercy & grace
so inept by a blackened imagination.