Your bed-board was always at an angle when we finished

Your clothes hooked by the door or to be strewn on the floor

The smell of fake tan with the warmth of sunlight through dirty shades

A single book sits lonesome and without music collection

A fat black TV and purple duvet

Your silly tattoos screamed reckless youth not yet extinguished

The way you mothered me with the voice of a child


Oh Mary mother of God - you poor thing


Were I ever to see you cry it might have been different

And I am sorry I loved you in my mind and not in my heart.


~ G McK


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