The Pantomime. A poem.

The tears keep me awake at


they burn my eyes and ducts,
sodden flames licking,
smoke broiling,
consuming the room of my


until I’m fit to choke
on all the pointless


spluttering, unkempt,
raw and misbegotten.

Soaked in a pantomime
of longing and rejection
until the show is


Those tears remain,
salty dew trails
that scar my cheeks,
a tattooed reminder that


leaves my side.

The All or the Nothing

For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first book, available at most online book sellers in print or e-book formats.

Click here to find out how to get your copy.

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