The clouds linger


And the rain


Which is very odd

For early February

In Australia.

I’ve just finished

My a nine-hour day,

Collapsing into my


Windows bathing me

In an overcast glow.

For some strange reason

I think of you.


I think of you,

For the first time

In three years.

You’re married now,


A wife and a kid.

Two cars,

A house,

Dream job,

White picket life;

All the domestic shit.

I don’t hate her,

You’re wife,

For taking my life.

I pity her,

Because she’s trapped

In you’re lies.



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