The foundations of his dying mind
Bleeds muted on his control,
He is fading,
Ghosting between life and living
In bored realities of grey and red.
Crooked and bent he screams at wallpaper,
Its pattern faded since the Seventies
Where polyester was once king
And childhood turned on a five pence piece.
The TV flickers,
Whispers in white noise and crawling ants
But he sees only his own destruction amongst the nightly pizza boxes
And cheap beer cans,
A tower to mark his forgotten existence,
On the edge of charity
And weekly handouts.
He lets his cigarette burn low,
Extinguishing it on the fuck ugly wallpaper
And switches off the lone light
That swings back and forth like a noose.
Tick-tock,
He shrinks into the darkness.
Copyright© RMC Feb 2020
Mistyroads 