The Loyalist

I might be incapable of whipping myself into a tip top shape
but you and your embellished frame I can work with,
I'd like to think. You see, for me it's all dependent on heartbreak. Someone kicks me in the metaphorical cunt and I'm crawling, pen and paper in my hand, scrawling some of the best works of my life. For you, inspiration comes in a bottle and a smoke. It's so fucking down-right natural to you to take to it that you've taken it for granted.

And you know who you are.

See, throwing the pen, the pencil, the plucked finger in, it won't do you any good because you shut down a very natural urge to you. If I don't make allowances for myself, put myself in a few uncomfortable situations, well, I'd never write anything worthy again. Though I strive to do well, I suppose, for some hopeless dream that I can end a nine to five of screaming children and babies and teenagers and I can sit here, with my coffee, prolonging my day trying to will you to shape yourself up.

Yes, your physical frame is masterful and I'd love to hear of it, lick it, hit again your blackened eye but for the goodness of your soul sit down and write something worthy or forget it all. Though I don't think you can't do that. You couldn't forget this, and the hours you could come here when no one else was there to listen. You couldn't forget the minutes you would sit trying to work out what you wanted to say. You couldn't forget this because there will be a hole no decent punch or kick can fill. You remember those days when the shit hit the fan and you needed someone to stroke those weaker lines, the lines that today you wouldn't want people to see, not with a shape and stance as yours.

It's like a cat, a cat on the prowl, to the outside needs to be one with the alley - there's not a single street cat out there who doesn't give the night what it needs but when it comes home to food and rest and it's basic urges, a lap is pretty tempting. You don't need to visit here right away. I won't expect a note or letters of how your training is coming along. Though, don't forget, when you are ready to come home and give me something worthy of a pat on the back and my being in awe of you then I want you to jump up and down, claw my leg until it's raw and make as much noise as possible. I would never want to miss it.

And you know who you are.