Friday, 3 March 2017

The cliff.

You jump off a cliff,
every morning.
and stayed alive,
and wondering why.

Battered and bruised
the walking dead
an ex-person
with a shell
of paranoia and pain
you were too pissed to feel.

And you stole and stole
until everyone went
in a flat with the piss heads
who everyone else hates.

You wasted away
with bright yellow eyes,
looking closer to a corpse
with every bottle of cider
not even your kids miss you.

And soon you'll walk off the same cliff,
and the edge of the world,
and then you'll land dead
and we'll carry on.
A life that could have been.

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