It wasn't always like this:
Scrounging a single superking after a 6-hour shift because I "deserve it"
To then go home and sleep for 4 hours, strangled in enveloping tartan fabric which Nan bought for a couple of quid from the charity shop
It's too hot,
too sweaty -
A quick resolve being to turn on the fan which jolts into a cacophony of noise
I shouldn't have thrown away those earplugs
They never worked anyways,
the lane still continues to bustle:
Foxes congregate outside the Papa John's which were left open (once again)
At least they're eating well
whilst I have to send a text to the managers at work with subliminal undertones that I *really* need the money
and the company
Maybe I won't sleep tonight
May I remind you once again -
It wasn't always like this:
a 5-hour coach trip was what I used to yearn for,
vivid memories of getting the same bus to get that sickly-sweet feeling
like a toddler who has raided the toffee coins out of the box of Quality Street
with the sole intention of seeking refuge in a quiet corner
cramming them all in their mouth, only to get the sweets stuck to every crevice,
where no scraping with their fingers, no incessant licking on the side of their gums would remove that plaque
I came to find out it'll solidify, harden and serve as a reminder that
it wasn't always like this
YOU ARE READING
poems that are piss poor
Poezjaupdated whenever i'm inspired enough to write no guarantee work is good tw: death, vivid discussions of poor mental health
