The Final Belittling

You scream at me wearin’ yesterday’s face,

but I can’t hear yer words for saving mine

from the trash of your banshee

in full-throated flight.

Hail, gale, and wail.

Same old stale tale,

screeching its way down the street

slowly dissolving in snot and slaver.

***

I wipe the splashes off ma shirt

and flick them back at yer bloodshot face.

All this shit, it’s all yours, love

Keep the flies

‘round your crockpot of lies.

I am walking away wearin' nowt but smiles.

I do not want any bit of whatever this is.

You are punch drunk, sweetheart,

feckin’ out to lunch,

I can’t even look at them sunken cheeks and piss-hole eyes

you lost the plot

when you stopped being hot.

Now, yer a right shit-tip,

a grubby bugger.

Not fit to be a ….

Sober up and get a grip.

Put out yer fag

and scaffold yer sag.

Wipe yer face and move along.

Put on a fucking different song.