Title: Poison In The Punch
by Craig from Cornwall | in writing, poetry, dark
Even if we don't ever discuss it,
it is always Friday in my head
and I may not be the life and soul of the party
but I'm arranging the pointy dunce hats,
mixing the drunk punch,
setting the seating arrangement so we are nowhere near each other
and ordering foreign foods we would never taste sober.
I arrange the matching plastic cutlery,
ensure the coat rack is empty for when the guests arrive,
I plump the living room cushions
and investigate the cleanliness of every room just incase,
ninety minutes before arrival time I shoo you into the bathroom
and then I stand there like an the invisible man
imprisoned in your shadow as you welcome your friends into our house.
I may not be the life and soul of the party
but I know when to be fool hardy
and there is poison in your punch,
shush, don't tell anyone.
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