Struck dumb are we?
Impossible eh? I found a
way. Easy really. ‘Fuck off.’
Let’s not pretend. I
saved your embarrassment. We all knew
you had no spine, so I used mine. ‘Fuck
off.’
The clock ticked backwards.
Problems get magnified when no-one can be arsed to solve them.
You’d watch TV. I’d
write all night. You’d visit your
friends, until the end. Until, ‘Fuck
off.’
Fucking was like fighting.
Eye gouching and dirty tactics. A
real desire to hurt.
I spiked myself with Viagra.
And again. And again. Every stroke hate filled, telling your vagina,
‘Fuck off.’
When was it that we began to eat at different times on our
old pine IKEA table now unable to bear a load equal to two full dinner plates?
Our last meal wasn’t exactly pleasant. Peasant food burnt. Like our patience, our compassion. You told me to, ‘Get fucked.’ I told you to, ‘Fuck off.’
What a messy divorce!
That took some time to finalize! You benefitted financially I
recall. Ties now cut.
I see you every once in a while, and realise I’m still bound
to you, because I always greet you with the words, ‘Fuck off.’
