The sound,

The sound,

A tap, dripping.

Water, hitting

The cracked enamel,

Dirty from a life

Of sin,

An explosion,

That cuts him in half,

Like gunfire.

It tears right through him

Ripping his head apart.

Lifting the dust

From his soul.

Late, again.

Left behind.

That train left the station

Years ago.

But he still ran,

Trying to catch up.

He had a date once,

Some girl,

Got his head in a whirl

Forgot the time,

And missed it.

Life always,

Got away from him.

His face patched with

Tissue paper,

Blotting blood

From shaving cuts,

Skin,

The colour of clay,

Gray, from lack of sleep

And whisky.

The glass lay,

Drained

By his bed.

A rinse in the morning

To clear his head.

And he stumbles out.

First stop,

Coffee shop.

A double shot,

As like as not.

A kick start,

For a broken heart.