Tuesday, 16 August 2016

BIRDS OF A FEATHER -

They're all coming out of the woodwork now,
Everyday, another ghost from her past,
She watches as they file past:

{The violent alcoholic-----------------,
--------------------------------------------,
--------------------------------------------,
--------------------------------------------,
--------------------------------------------,
--------------------------------------------,
--------------------------------------------,
-----------------------------The married}

She watches the parade,
And with a tongue click,
Takes out her key & once again,
Locks it away.

She slams it into reverse,
Spins around,
And without checking her mirrors,
Guns the engine,
In the direction of her freedom,

She'll drive this night,
Under the star punched sky,
Until it all starts to make sense,
She tosses back her hair,
Belts out her favourite tune,
And settles in for the long haul.






There's a memory tucked inside of me

Inside of me so deep, Burnt into my retina, When awake & when asleep. It's like a bad smell, That just won't go, It rattle...