Creative Writing

Not a poem

A bottle of wine for us to share,

A blanket, some crackers and cheese

And as you drowned me in cheddar squares I’d beg,

“leave me alone, please”

I only want one thing from you –

A rocket to the moon, away from your side,

Maybe on that hunk of cheese

I’d finally find somewhere to hide.


I’ll run away to the Finnish fjords,

Maybe there I could be alone,

But in amongst the ice and trolls,

I think you’d be at home.

The Amazon rainforest is big enough

Though I’d be dead within a day.

In fact, those 24 hours would be.

Longer than our love could stay.


Your heart is like raw chicken,

It’s always making me ill.

Your speech like a Tesco tannoy system

Inciting me to kill.

Your nose, if you could call it that,

Sounds like the Apollo twelve.

And ears that to the side of your face

Mechanically seem to meld.


Your drive is something I can respect

As long as it’s off the grid.

The flames of your passion I can survive

Provided I’m locked in a fridge.

Your humour, like you, is rather dry –

Dusty, absent, dead.

Your anger and pride defining features,

The only little things in your head.


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December 2021
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