Empty Fucks & Shallow, Suicidal Mornings by Paul Tristram

To awake panicking with eyes jammed closed tight
as the shame, guilt and embarrassment
hammers choirs of Demons
into perfect tune within your writhing, furnace soul.
As you tentatively wrack your struggling mind
searching if there is actually any reason to feel this way?
for sometimes nothing negative has happened at all.
The bottle upon the floor is just too far away right now
(There is always a bottle, the question is:
does it still contain anything and if so, how much?)
Wait, there’s someone else sharing this Hell of a bed,
I can feel a cold sliver of arse cheek close by,
twitching and shivering like transitioning roadkill,
there’s a sudden mutual scent of hatred in the air.
I wonder who it can be? No, no…she’s dead.
It’s like an unnecessary present on an unwanted birthday.
Trying unsuccessfully to remember any previous
sexual (Ha!) activity gives my cock half a pathetic trunk on.
If she pushes back, even slightly in response?
I’m slipping it in…besides a red raw crotch
will give me something else to pick and scratch at
and a bathroom run to mop-up afterwards gives
whatshername the perfect chance to get her shit and leave.

black derby

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1943170096 ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1326241036 And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1326415204 You can also read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/


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