Diary of a soulless guy

1.

Stitches unravel, black threads poke through
broken skin with every blow, your door:
a punching bag much harder than
skulls and thigh bones.

Louder:
BAM
BAM
BAM
indenting chipped paint, bloody
and concave. I leave money for
repairs the council won’t make.

It’s two AM
and I’m in pain
you still won’t
open

Spat out by an incandescent moon
glowing bloodred and superior
I slump onto the pavement of
our estate, lit by a mocking hue,
slimy shadows no one escapes
I howl once more:

“Just open the fucking door!”

Please, I mean
I promise
I won’t hurt you

I wouldn’t do that again.

2.

Two kids in the playground, foggy
halos emerge from ancient crack
pipes, generational diseases
we accept as if by choice. Their backs
arch over a green swing, fiddling their
baby genitals where we kissed
one night, not noticing the stars.

I am an ache, an agonizing
ache that only wants my hands on
yours pressing together as a
heartbeat, squeezing this life into
a new one.

3.

I have become a regular
in this stinking café, nobody
else but truck drivers and runaways
and me waiting waiting
waaaaaaaaaaai-ting

My mother says I get it from
a father I’ve never met; a
strand of DNA, genetically
inclined to Fuck Up.

I want to drown in the brown
malevolent depths of my coffee
cup. The enormity of my
emptiness will swallow me now
I know I’ve lost you.

“Want another one pet?”

More more more suck me into your
whorish whirlpool of liquid lead
I’ll sit here like I have been all
day, bored-drunk, rehearsing this
being dead

4.

It’s day six, your door is still closed

“You cow!”

But I don’t mean that

I walk out into the car park
kicking a can like some teenage
criminal, the gash on my knuckles
is much wider now a similar
shape to the smile on your face when
Ollie was born.

“Hey Sugar, fancy a Go?”

For twenty pounds I give in to
a chipped smile that no one sees
I ask her not to speak as she
takes me behind a moldy wall
I never knew was there. I embrace
her in the dark imagining
we embrace in daylight.