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 clichΓ©s
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