did you know

that some nights, I lie awake, enraptured in girlish, hot-lidded crush - just thinking about the brush of your black hair across my shoulder. Have you heard, all those familial miles away, my wordless, lust driven compulsion to imagine your coal ribbons melting in my bed.

I have watched your scabby, hangnailed nicotine finger flick the end of that same cigarette a hundred times, and each time I want nothing more than to put that same crackled digit in my warm, wet mouth. Then I could taste the hundreds of groupies - the endless taste of tight teenage girl.I would taste all your years of smack, each one held in bitter cellular memory. Every broken promise and every one yet to be made.

The way your bottom lip does that thing, you know the one I mean, won't let me forget you. I hope you are so very bored. The things I could give you, the things I would, sure must be more exciting than pushinf a double pram down the High Street or through B&Q on a sunday to buy coving for the newly redecorated front room.

Don't you want to come into my red room, with all its hazy light and hazier morals. Don't you want to live again, instead of the sterile existance you find yourself in now. Have you forgotten what its like? I wonder sometimes if you've just burned yourself out. Maybe you just don't have it in you anymore to smack yourself out of your head and spend three days fucking girls you could probably get arrested for fucking.

Maybe you are meant to be like you are now, and maybe I will finally realise that you are old older oldest, too old for me anyway.

Its a shame you can't see what you're missing out on.