alarm clock.
aim.
miss.
roll out of bed.
miss.
fuck.
silence.
bull's eye.

the world looks different through blurry eyes.
crawl to the cd player
already on
(pisshead)

press play
throw away the bottle.
not empty
(bonus)

today is already one of those days.
still half asleep
not quite sure what i did last night.
(makes a fucking change?)
pretty sure i regret it
(long live nostalgia...)

walking the million miles to the kitchen,
making sure i walk into at least two doorposts on the way,
reaching for the pain pills that only help the ache in my head
(my heart can't matter all that much then)
fucking hangover.

water?
fuck it.
whisky tastes nicer.

back door open.
aim.
door post.
aim.
sorted.

collapse on the back garden.
(bad idea. rained last night.)
fumbling for a cigarette
(smoking seriously harms you and others around you)
lighter....
heaven.
marlborough reds.

and a bottle of vodka.
and fish and chips without the fish on a bench in wrexham.
and i'll wear your trench coat so i don't get cold.
and you can shiver and bitch at me all you like.
long live nostalgia.

i always had a fascination with watching the smoke this early in the morning
but the wind chases it away.
(fucking english weather)
it's too cold.
should have worn a jumper.
if you were here i wouldn't need one.
just a hug.

smoke right down to the butt
not wanting to stub it out in the glass that's become a make-shift ashtray.
(just one more drag?)
back door slams.
i fucking hate doors slamming.

remember when he'd slam the door
and you'd laugh when i jumped?

then you'd pull me closer
and kiss me softly.

the same way you did when i cried
and you'd wipe away my tears
("you'll only wreck your eyeliner")
and you'd promise me you'd never go away.
we'll be okay, you and me.

promise?
"i promise."
(so fucking convincing...)

i wish you were here now.
because these tears fucking sting.
and i still see your face
printed on the back of my eyelids
(i'll be cliche if i want to be)
memories aren't washed away all that easily
and scars take forever to fade

i wish you were here now
so i could kill you over again.
words can't explain how much i'm hating now.
bastard.
(i never was the poetic one)
next time i'll help you tie the rope...