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 Heed, Daily Drunk, Rejection Lit, Spelk, Storgy, Versification, Ellipsis and Idle Ink.
Twitter handle: @Fijo_Frenchie