the3rdpersonstory

1

Loud cars, deaf ears
Coat hangers, hushed tears.
Darkest places, brightest lights 
Moths never reaching the sun settling for
Neon at night.

Short-shorts and waists, wasted
Limbs lie splayed out on
Stumbled-down-stairs,
Red carpets rolled out 
Of Vacant word-holes.
Splinters of beauty
Caught in the teeth,
Threads of the truth 
Sewn into the seams
Compliments unpaid
Keep kept to themselves.

2

Short shorts so short 
Just call them waistbands.
They lie wasted on
Pavements no gravestones, no
Caskets, just baskets and cases 
In carcass races.
Time spent feeding, 
Fattening flesh
For death to devour.
Envious, vacuous,
Wine glasses in the desert.
Bones, names, jewellery 
Left on the plate, 
The soul spat out 
And no tip so
Don’t wait.

Predators and prey, 
Minds led astray,
The lost claim loneliness
Abundance in choicelessness
Blind to the darkness 
Leading them by hand 
Away from the rest,
Laying them down 
Hopeless hoping to rest,
But hope came and went,
You never saw your own breath.