Sex, Lies & Razor Blades

She sat legs embraced
wet cheeks resting on knees
waiting for me to rise
so I would witness her bleed

He lies, post sex, sleeping
sweat glistening on his frame
dark blue sheets balled up
good score for an away game

I stood in the doorway
frozen by her look
friends shouldn’t lie
and they definitely shouldn’t fuck




* The second verse was originally posted last month as a short poem in itself, mainly because I was not happy with the complete piece at that time. After re-reading it again today, I changed my mind.

A true story of naivety

C-rush Hour

Overslept again!
skipping breakfast
I ran for the tram
and collapsed into my usual seat
amongst the mourning commuters
who grieve their pillows too
they sit now in solitary pairs
digesting tabloids in tight spaces
sound blasting senses with ipods
or looking through windows
in catatonic stare
as the winter coat & boot brigade
multiply with each stop
identikit designer style en masse
with the exception of one…
young-elvis-costello-incarnate
he – only 2 seats ahead
me – 20 years too late