Photographs are my family,
As I don`t see them in the flesh.
Rooms have become cold and desolate,
Just like my heart.
Let someone else recycle the cans in the garden,
I didn`t throw them there.
Maybe the children are lonely,
They don`t talk to each other,
Only to their phones
Mine is in a box, uncharged.
Just like I`ll be one day.
Let the foul graffiti on the door
Be a savage reminder to those in charge.
The last time I set foot on a beach
Six of my best friends were taken from me.
Laughter is hard to recall,
But crying is a constant.
Can I still hold a conversation?
Or only speak to myself?
Your very own Ben Gunn
But I never really cared for cheese
One week later…
Not big news…nobody queues…empty pews
Another Mr Lonely…gone…deleted…dead