That sweat dripping pit.
Heaving mass of flesh
and a cordoned off splash of sick.
The air thick.
The scent of lager ripples through the frothy smog.
Lynx Africa, cigarette smoke, and some ungodly stench
emanating from the bogs.
Tongues interlock.
Trying to dislodge some of the emptiness
in which we were caught.
Eighteen and already at sea,
a wash of melancholia
over a stone covered beach.
But this was heaven.
The volume turned up to eleven.
Music reverberating through every atom.
Smashing,
like particles through
the universe's vast chasms.
But like all good things
It all came crashing.
A Groundhog Day repeat
replaying recycled memories.
That sweat dripping pit.
Heaving mass of flesh
and a strong scent of shit.
Lies swept waves
over lager swamped ground.
A sea of distrust,
a watery grave
in which to drown.
Kept as a quick fix,
for those times
when attention
didn't sit and pine
at her from
lustful male eyes.
I was used, or left to sit on the sidelines
a substitute for when nights declined.
This was hell.
The sounds dropped and fell.
Music stabbing every nerve ending,
pain transcending
up into my brain
as the sweat rained back down again.
But like all bad times
I arose. Walked away from those
bad memories, like I had been
sleepwalking in a heavy doze.
I found new life in these feet of mine
and I walked a different pathway.
Whilst she fell along a white line.
Thanks for reading
Please take a few moments
to check out my new book "Poetic Outlaw"
available from Amazon
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CVQ5F9K8/
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