You will miss me

when you are alone, she said,

when the tide of life’s cold wind

freezes about your head

when the sunset burns red

and only you are there to see

when the laughing of the stream

mocks you in your stead

when your arms wrap around nothing

as they search your empty bed

when you melt at seeing a smile

but wake from dreaming it instead

when the flowers in the florists

wet your eyes as you pass by

when they well in your quieter moments

till you give it up and cry

you will miss me when I’m dead,

so shu’ up, she said.

Look! All I meant was...

Whatever

Trevor

Talk to the hand,

the face ain’t listening.

Loser! Minger! Dickhead, she said

 But, listen, all I said...

Do you want this fucking bottle

wrapped around your head?

She said.

And, the laughing of the stream

seemed like music in my head,

and my arms reached out for nothing

and the smile I dreamt was dreamy

and the flowers in the florists

were wreaths to celebrate the dead.

What you thinking about?

She said.