FESTER

Slugs fester on my carpet
as I fester in my wallow
watching mould creep up the wall
and along the broken window.
Sleeping tonight is too much to ask.

What have I become – ten years from now.
Did I ever imagine me here like this
when I grew up.
Renting a bedsit on a main road,
drinking cheap red wine on my own.
Spending months in search of a job,
wearing clothes from a charity shop.

My Beano days are gone,
and alone is all I see;
I can read it in my palms ,
I can taste it in my tea.

I’ve said too much,
I’ll leave it there.
I can see you roll back your eyes,
I can here you sigh.
I apologise