And then I started.

And then I started.

Mistyping a ‘W’ in the middle of then

Three times

It didn’t stop me

From remembering how

She thought everything I wrote

Was a part of me.

Even though it is borrowed

There is nothing

I don’t own

When I own it all.

There is no verse

In the known universe

That came about by accident.

It might have been fueled by drink

Anger, boosted by self-delusion

Self-flagellation

An irreligious penance

A dissociated voice

Full of scorn, derision

The arse-end of ego

Reflecting a negative self-image

A low bar.

Where bad verse is concerned

Inverted snobbery

Fills the trash

With projectiles

Psychodrama and projection.

The room would be full of it

Overflowing, a multiverse

Of similes

Never let facts get in the way

Of a good story

His story

Her story.

They all amount to a pot of jam

Which would taste as sweet

If I could stop the pain

Of losing a little piece

Of self

Every time

I say goodbye

To another memory

As it dissolves into the ether

Which is another way

Of dispersing words

Into a vacuum.

Elasticated memories

Rarified interstices

Where the space between

One word and another

Becomes smaller

The lightness of being

Filtered out.

I blame it on the boogie.

But it could be my imagination

Playing pretty games

With the truth.

When push comes to shove

It is all a question

Of need

And I need you to believe.

Because if nothing is true,

Then it all is.