Wayward Words and the Magic Of Such

There’s what’s left of my dignity
curled around the flail of my own disregard
for the addicts credo
that I want what I want
and I'm willing to set us all on fire to get it
a pretty arsonist
with a penchant for 100%proof and
playing with matches
shuffle steps stagger and slide
out into the morose evening
a drizzle of hunger
spewed onto the pavement
a multicoloured
multi faceted gem
glistening rainbows in the grease
of my lack of self control
and I turn the lock
I turn the lock
I turn the lock
till the tumbler clicks enough times to  
satisfy the fact that I'm
living under a bridge
and drank the rent money again
hope that when the sky clears I can touch the moon
I used to pretend I was anywhere than here
but I know
a secret  
they never see the left coming
my foot on the roaring pedal
is no way to flee myself
despite leaving pieces of me strewn in the alleyway
a garish bunting of my failures
always used to end at the bottom of a bottle
now they're here
in words that fall from my fingers
in metaphors
streaming water that cascades
down my cheeks
the ache in my blood
my bones
and I serve them up with no garnish
no adornments
raw and uncooked
so maybe just maybe
we can sink this shot together and burn
into the night
howling at the pretty moon
finding real dignity
in cursive letters
A tribute to missy demeanour  
Who’s writing is a metaphorical treasure trove
of honest and raw
Her life told in pretty pictures  
even the parts that hack to the bone
A poet
A crafter of words
And someone worth your time to read
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