Her Heart Belongs To Diamorphine, Not You

You are just a Runner,
an Odd-Job Man,
a Courier who’s hooked
upon a love that isn’t there.
You’re seeking warmth
in an emotional graveyard.
Yet, you are needed,
in fact, very much so,
but, only because
you serve several
juggling functions, so well.
The reality of the situation
is that you’re as replaceable
as a corridor lightbulb.
And the truth of the matter
is that if she manages
(As you keep wishing)
to clean herself up…
you’ll very soon become part
of the drug paraphernalia
which she is leaving behind.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.