It’s About Time You Fucked Up Your Ideas

It’s About Time You Fucked Up Your Ideas

Poetry

Paul Tristram

“Isn’t it about time you started misbehaving again
You must be missing the drink & drugs?
When was the last time you had a fight?
I’m sick of looking at your bruise-less body.
The Police haven’t been here in months, I’m ashamed!
Even the Corner Street Girls have stopped smiling at you.
Call yourself a Man? Jesus Christ, I’m so BORED!
I miss your hung-over, bloodshot beautiful eyes.
You limping up the street with a spring in your step.
Your scuffed and scabby knuckles down there
Flicking my bean and driving me fucking crazy.
I heard ‘Billy No Mates’ was calling you a Wanker
In ‘The Pub With No Name’ late last night
And he’s drinking in ‘Wetherspoon’s’ this afternoon.
Ketamine Kate’s selling amphetamine again
Her number’s on the kitchen table with a £100.
Go and sort yourself out mun, make me proud
And don’t you dare come back home until you have
Blackened eyes and our once glorious names again!”

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