Better Days.

It's quiet in here.

Only the hum of my old colour Tv
keeps a constant companion
in these sober hours.

I'd kill for a drink
(well, perhaps only maim)
but the last bottle lays a corpse
on the floor
so I'll just have to settle for a cigarette
and a handful of cliche's instead.

But it's still too damn quiet in here.

I long for a return to drunken revelry,
of wild eyed orgies,
of poker until dawn.

Sat in the kitchen
nursing a vodka
and sharing stories.

Those endless ejections
from pointless night-clubs,
strip-joints and bars.

'Danny man...you're not supposed to touch.'

But it's quiet in here.

As the blonde one sleeps
peaceful in the safety
of our bed
I find myself wondering
is it time I grew up.

Time too fly straight,
act my age,
settle into this life of domestic bliss
and lay my years too rest.

But I've tried that,
it dosen't work.

All relationships are damned
from the start.

In a society where 65% of all
marriages end in divorce
it just makes sense not
too bother.

Just no room for
us romantices
in this day and age.

Just save yourself the heartache
and drift away.

So I look for an ending
and finding only silence
I reason it's better
just to stop.

Still

it's quiet in here.

by Neil Gray

Comments (2)

Once again you have blown me away, its so refreshing to read your work. The want for the old life, the parties, the sex, the drink, and all the time you remind us of the silence. Great work Vincent
A true write.Unfulfilled hunger but the chain of reality. To better days! Patricia Gale