Two-hundred and Forty-three: Foolish Games

You fell like a piano from a rooftop party
while he sang for every hooker/ waitress there.

Your machism was charming, truly.
And it was amusing to watch you twist into yourself,
hard as a rubix cube, tripping over mixed signals like a colour-blind dog at a traffic light.

Then you drifted into strangers’ beds,
playing solitaire while you thought they were sleeping.

Next time you stick two thumbs in your heart and pull a face,
I’m going to pull out this trick again.
So stop hitch-hiking from mouth to mouth,
and get a fucking job holding someone’s outstretched hand instead.

Because you know that the only reason you played hangman with yourself
-and lost-
is because you’re so out of damn practice.
You should have let him have some letters.
But don’t worry-

now you’ve got the script…
All you need to do is get used to the new actors.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

5 thoughts on “Two-hundred and Forty-three: Foolish Games”

  1. Truly lovely. I hope you get used to the new actors too. Today I read that if we live till 70 we only have 25,550 days. There are probably a lot more actors to go!

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