Delicious Mental Fudge

give! her! the! ketchup!!!

She could’ve taken me out

then & there, but

I am not the type, and

honestly, that’s alright with me.

So I’ll head off to the bar

that’s downstairs, to

kiss a friend goodbye, and

crawl away for the night, because

—

if there’s some gleam in my eye

that might’ve caught her own

it must be tricks of the light, so

we’re both better off alone.

I’ve wandered out & in to worlds

that’ll challenge my style, but

have never survived for more

than just a little while, ‘cos I’m

an overcome claustrophile.

—

He could’ve allowed me in

to the fold, but

I was easy prey, and

seriously, why not play with me?

So I’ll fall upon the block’s

stranglehold, to

expect a dropped blade, and

shed ‘sorry’s for the weight, because

—

each bitter breath I take

is of a better man’s air.

This body’s taking up space that

could’ve been yours, or theirs.

I’d walk continents for your love

while you’ll not give a mile.

I never asked for your judge-

ment, let alone a trial, yet I’m

your culpable claustrophile

—

I could’ve just given up

any time, but

I’m depended on, and

horribly, that’s what’s wrong with me.

So I’ll stand in search of suns that

never rise, to

welcome warm their bronze, and

spread thin my shadow’s song, because

—

what little colour’s in me

is just a shade with no hue.

Although riddled by answers, I

lack a damn thing to prove.

I have to suck it up each day

like gulping down bile, and

it’s been feeling this way

since I was juvenile, ‘cos I’m

Headless hunger now does demand

ascension from glory — towering

—

above, dark shoulders spread, and

become the night sky, a thousand

hands plunging through canopies

—

made decayed by pestilent hatred

Gastly