What do you want from me?
a suicidal tendency?
a regimental history?
or do you
pity me
in the city me,
as I sit and look at you?
do you see the leaning towards
self destruct?
fucked if I can.
but
it hides well
and
bodes ill.
I could kill for a lager
something larger
a litre?
then I meet her and
I’m sober
that’s me
all over,
wishes on a star
with his head in the sand.
© 2018, John Smallshaw.
