drinking

The First Villanelle

Oh. how to write a villanelle?

I need to be in the right mood

Perhaps a glass of Zinfandel

Would make my words seem rather swell

Or would it make them far too lewd?

Oh. how to write a villanelle?

Set up a template on Excel

And write until my flair renewed

Perhaps a glass of Zinfandel

To help fill in each empty cell

Or is this method far too crude?

Oh. how to write a villanelle?

My head becomes an empty shell

This page is just some words accrued

Perhaps a glass of Zinfandel

Ease my failure, not to dwell

Without the poem, then I’m screwed

Oh. how to write a villanelle?

Perhaps a glass of Zinfandel?

Cycle of Contempt

The glossy pink, drips between the slow decay
Glistening in the light, translucent to the eye
A warmth, humming just beneath the surface
All the while creeping, gradually cracking
Rising to the surface in a multitude of disdain
It’s cascade of vitriol spewing from the mouth
of innocent fissures
Clambering, grasping, gulping for air
as the cool oblivion drones on.
Unaware,
Apathetic,
Empty
A barren slate on which to start anew
To scratch the hollows of tedium
Furrow the violence
And bury the coruscation
Once more.

Weak Day

I couldn’t leave you like that
A crumpled heap of overused clichés
Damp and sodden with wine
Your mind over analysing
Regressing
Stretching the perforations
Scratching the threads of scars
Demonising your very existence

“You didn’t leave me,
for that I thank you,
Thankfully it wasn’t a weekday