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They roll over

Heavy with disturbed sleep,

Face a clump of hair

On a long abandoned pillow.

They scratch their bodies,

Flakes of dismay

Scatter the floor.

They look at their faces

Puffed up with alcohol

And their hollow eyes

Swallowed

By the hopeless baring

Of an interminable wait.

They throw away their mirrors

Not wanting to see

What they have become and

Their soon decaying skin

Gnarled away by years of

Fear and guilt.

They bury the memory of love

Under cheap prints and disposable cloth.

They hug themselves tight

And reminisce of the good times,

With people they never met

People they will never see again,

Ghosts of a life that has become

A distant, distorted dream

In a mouldering world

They couldn’t stop destroying.

THE END


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

B F Jones is French and has been living in the UK since 2002.

She has flash fiction and poetry published in various online UK and US literary magazines: The Cabinet of HeedDaily DrunkRejection LitSpelkStorgyVersificationEllipsis and Idle Ink.

Twitter handle: @Fijo_Frenchie


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