Child of the host,
Drifting room to room.
Neither one nor the other,
Unlike the definite brother,
One cannot go home too soon.
Defrocked and turned again,
Falling to the centre,
Distraught and seeking friends.
Every straight line bears a kink,
Every smile has a wink,
Little biscuit run and hide.
Melee shopping, stopping, seething,
Finding corners, pausing, breathing,
Elbows, shoulders, hawk-like sight,
Blinding tinsel, fairy lights,
Ho-ho-hos and festive cheer.
Fuck this noise. I hate it here.
A late visit, a distraction,
Try to hold a cat’s attention,
I will not leave until you’re calmer,
Didn’t think to don my armour,
Good knight night.
Spectre drifting room to room,
Calmly shifting gloom on doom,
Self-fulfilled, ill-fated, mostly.
Pale and shaking, tears and gasping,
Smoke-yellow breath, filth and rasping,
All the stands is faded, ghostly.
Alone, the phone
Blinks like it cares.
See what’s new.
Nothing to do.
Cry “Fuck this”, give yourself a chance,
Join in the confusing dance,
Everybody knows the end,
That thing on which you can depend,
Suddenly your feet will stop,
And from the dance floor you will drop,
The nearby dancers mark the spot,
Where you danced, and danced your lot.