I'm rum drunk
sprawled across the curtains
masquerading as a bed spread
gotta make myself feel at home
gotta feel something
though the rum will put a stop to that
nonsense
whispering sweet nothings
swallowing
sweet nothingness
sweet somethings
something it's best
not to talk about
It's quiet here
I can't quite get used to it
No rattling trams
Breaking glass
Backyard cricket
In my non-existent front yard
Echoing off the columns
Stone stairs
Into the starless night.
I can see the city lights
A stones throw away
If I had good aim
And were as strong
As I felt
A tiny giant
In a ginger bread house
Sweet and falling apart
This quirky fairy tale
With a prince on platform three
And the possibility of a
Happy ending.
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