An OCD Girl, With Tears Running Down Her Cringing Face

Stepping Upon Pavement ‘Cracks’, Just To Prove Her Love For You… Bastard!

“Shut Up… I was just talking to myself.”
eww-grimaces, and sudden elbow-judders
… clumsy and irrational (that’s me).
“I shouldn’t have wore a fucking skirt!”
If I actually throw-up in front of him
… I’m going straight to A&E
with bleeding wrists and ankles
to be stitched-up and Sectioned (aaARGH!)
There are ‘Ants’, ohmygodohmygod
… who put them little biatches there?
And low-flying ‘Pigeons’… like REALLY?
whoever invented them should be shot
… oh no, my ring’s caught in my hair.
Is he smirking? seriously, mate, is it now
… oh, don’t you worry, boyo,
I’m logging that safely away for later on,
when I’ve finally got your cute, little ‘Heart’
safely tucked away inside my arse-pocket.
But, for now… I endure and concentrate…
‘Eyes On The Prize’, girl, you’ve got this,
think of something soothing and calming,
… in three weeks time, or thereabouts…
I’ll finally be spitting and pissing all over
that ‘Little Black Book.’ he’s so proud of.

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.