Handcrafted Heartache… And Higher-Levels Of Lowlife

I seek ‘Indulgence’ not ‘Care’ or ‘Forgiveness’
… Life’s little nooses did not Kill Me,
sexual asphyxiation takes my breath… away.
The Deeper I Dive the Holier it Becomes!
‘Ashamed’ in a premeditated manner
… just so I can enjoy the ‘Glow’
whilst Winter-walking my Debauched way
to the next Train Wreck I’m about to make
of every poor Bastard’s world around me.
I Hate myself, with a Smile
… and dwell upon the Discomfort of Yearning.
“It’s me, the password’s ‘Snatch’, lemmy in.”
I wonder if I walk like ‘this’ sober?
… weird, I couldn’t love you on Drugs,
I tried, and was Tried,
by a Court of my… whatever.
I can’t ‘Enjoy’ you like other people do
… there’s something Broken between us…
and I don’t really care, which fascinates me.
Yeah, yeah, I see her… I despise Runners…
let her play her ‘Games’ on the foolish ones
… I’m only Chasing Decadent Dead Certs
leading to Exhaustion and Oblivion tonight.
I will Die somewhere between your thighs
… and deserve it… not quite remembering
your name, where I am exactly… heartless,
yet not cruel… and WAITING eagerly to see
if that Knot of ‘Ache’ returns to my chest again?

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.