9pm

Your head's on the concrete.
There are passersby, but you don't care.
Some of them stop and look.
Some point and snigger.
It doesn't matter.

There's a song playing in the background,
The words are not clear.
If they are, you can not make them out.
You can't be bothered.
You shut your eyes to block out the stars.

To stop seeing the lights.

Flashes come through.
Flashes of what is happening.
Of what has become….
Without opening your eyes you know that when you do,
some time…some where you will be alone.

The bed will be empty.
You won't see her face in front of yours.
You won't see her smile.
You won't smile back that goofy smile that betrays your weakness,
The chink in the armour.
You won't enjoy the embrace that makes for some reassurance.
For some comfort.
For a modicum of relief.
You know you won't have to reach for your phone to text because morning breath can be a bitch.
You know this.

Another flash and its daylight, you are out of bed.

Getting dressed up.
The ghost of a smile plays briefly on your lips.
You look at yourself in the mirror and realize
You are due for a hair cut, for a shave.
The realization brings with it the fact
That you will have to settle for a professional one
From a salon from someone experienced.
Someone for whom you have no feelings.
Someone that leaves you no clues,
No memories… No blues.
No razor bumps to look at and smile.

Remembering.

Darkness falls.
Life's fun when the night strolls.
Obulamu bwensi…
It's not the booze,
the vodka,
the waragi…
the fanta.
It's more than that.
You sit at the bar knowing full well
It will not be the same.
You hold your hand out…
To the nothingness in front of you.

Your head's on the concrete.
Gazing at the stars.
It comes to you.
You realise.
You know…

You just died a little inside.

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