Runcible Spoon

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Mr Lonely


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