 By Tracey COOPER on October 6, 2025by MissT In the hollows of your fermented slumber, I watched you twist and stir Your words were venom poured in glass, Sharp as winter, cold as cur. You swore you loved me fiercely, Yet seldom left your lair; You fetched her cat its toys and treats, But left my birthdays bare. Four kisses in her messages, Mine starved for only two. You spun your lies like spider silk But, darling, the fool is you. You live off ghosts and borrowed breath, Your parents pay your way; You beg the past for petty coins, While dignity decays. You borrowed from your ex again, Called favours from the dead; A parasite on former loves, Who keeps their ghosts well-fed. You could not say I love you Without a choking strain; Each syllable a splintered truth, Each silence, my refrain. I gave you warmth and loyalty, Held vigil like a nurse; While rot crept slow beneath your ribs, You made my heart your hearse. You couldn’t share a drink with me, Yet crossed the city’s veins, To feed her thirst, supply her poisons And leave me with the stains. You never found the urge to touch me, Yet bled me dry each day: Comedy tickets, a brand-new table, And lies I can’t repay. You said you liked them smaller, With less weight on their breast; You dared to mock my living form While yours has lost its best. Your body is a crumbling shrine, Its prayers no longer rise; The flame that once pretended pride Now flickers, fails, and dies. Your manhood — that poor monument A ruin of the past; No matter how I tried to love, It never came to last. You boast of youth you do not hold, At fifty-seven’s gate; A shell that aches like eighty-eight Apologies too late. Your skin, a map of ruin’s bloom, With every boast betrayed; For time has marked you merciless, And mocked the man you played. You dared to scorn my body’s shape, Yet yours has turned to clay; The boils, the slack, the rot beneath Is the price addiction pays. And yet from ash I rise again, With embers in my veins; No longer bound by drunk deceit, Nor haunted by your chains. I am the fire you cannot dim, The truth you cannot flee; For every wound you carved in me Became my liberty. Your deceit and your betrayals Have brought us to the end. The ghosts you bred will haunt your nights But I shall never bend. I leave the rest to better rot: The lies, the liquor, rust. I’ll bury your last whispered name Beneath my quiet dust. |
Drunken Deceit
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