Chris lives and writes in Bedfordshire, UK.
© 2006 Chris Clatworthy
Life More Ordinary
a lot like you, doesn't she -
that mole, by her left ear-lobe?
have wanted a clone of you the bastard
when I met her in the pub
could have scratched her eyes out.
have done a scrap of good though
why I kept my cool.
to love you in sickness and in health,
a joke and so cruel,
only one he loves is himself.
Fact is, he's still a little kid inside
out his Walter Mitty world
everything's all right
though you might die in a few months time.
he couldn't stand the stress
not planning for the future --
want to be alone or words to that effect.
why he shacked up with her
sort of back-stop, an understudy
groomed for the part
jump straight in, fill your shoes
and when required so to speak.
you find out you've been given a reprieve,
remission as they call it and he's still stalling for time
you all be friends
then, he lives in a dream-world
girl you'd best believe it - like hell you had.
know you're mad, don't need me to tell you that
what's the alternative, what choice is there to make
you're insane enough to keep on loving him?
deserve you, the prick!
about the language but it gets me going
thinking of it -- all those nights he left you on your own
went to shag her. Don't mean to nag though
close the cupboard door,
those pills back on the shelf.
all steamed up now...
even talk to myself any more.
All work is property of Chris Clatworthy.
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