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Not quite of Assisi, but of ‘The Hailes’

This woman I knew, harder than nails.

Pleasant without,

But after a few

Her wit would cut through

Titanium rails

A gluttonous dram or cheap ‘any’ drug,

Made her aggressive, but

Some just like her, called it smug,

Daily and weekly, again n’ again

She’d quash her pains

I had her down as

Completely insane.

However,

She was loved by many

For her nonchalant shrug

Of the rock and hard place,

From whence she’d been born

And during the start of an Edinburgh Derby

While I’m sat in her boyfriend’s place

A mate of mine, with a nice big telly

(Call it a gut feeling in a literal sense)

I catch the glint of a kitchen knife

Fast approaching my belly

I kicked her away in self-defence

Everyone freaked out and stressed

At her revengeful impulsiveness

For a friend of hers

Who in a pub toilet enjoyed me

Almost undressed

Despite her lethal attempt

To teach a lesson in desires

Somewhere in all that fire

You couldn’t fail to admire.

Her victim of a victim quagmire

Like most of us, a survivor of dire

 

Today I found out she left this plain

“The witch is dead!”

How I had it explained

Poisoned by herself

Forever hungry for ‘higher than higher!’

“See ye then Francess!…

Oh and by the way?

I never wrote this to extract any p***

Your family, friends will I’m sure,

you, sorely miss.

I penned this from my own empathy

Of the very same hellish abyss

Because I really want to avoid

Leaving the same way

And allow time to consume me

In its natural way

Despite that void

That tells me the debts

‘will be paid’ ‘there has to be a way’

Being unemployable

Through my rants and old age

Perhaps my own haters may be charmed

To offer some dismay, forgive me my sins

The lies and trails of destruction,

Of abusing their trusts

Top of that list, womanizing disgust

But like you, I also am bipolarity cursed!

So I’ll do what I feel

And offer myself to the maker you recently challenged

Minus alcohol and the psychoactive lusts

Be well Francess

I hope you’ve found peace, calm and love.

 

 

 

 

George

And his mamma cried…:P

I tapped cautiously my finger. You scurried that way, only you can do. Upside down on the bathroom ceiling, making me remember your intricacies. All woven in nature’s genial design of air expelling hairs on your feet that allow you traction anywhere.

Macro camera focus on your reptilian armour. Smooth scales but gossamer thin, skeletal, bare.

You’re tragically wasting away. Starving by the looks of the plastic lid bulging painfully in your thorax. Mistaken lunch, or supper perhaps?

I pity I could not help you, or it out.

And those eyes; unique exoplanets and exotic in their own right. Hazel opals with a blunt logo of your former self.  I can see that in your deathly iris.  Inside, infinitely black, endless, yet calm. Perhaps where you departed so easily to, and surprising…no…shocking me.

Or was it I you?

By falling with your half grown new tail. First, onto my lens. Then, I studied your featherweight in my palm. Intrigued and inspiring me to interpret you with this poem come epitaph. When perhaps your days doing your duty were more deserving of a psalm.

You were always going in to the light. In this life for bugs and now perhaps immortality…that makes me smile a bit. Thinking of you in that heavenly place where all the ghosts of your victims await you to devour them all over again.

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