allen austin-bishop, Allen Austin-Bishop, Page 7

March 5, 2019

Every Day A Little Death

I’m in the pub and You Can’t Buy Me Love comes on. I know I can’t.

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I sit, nursing a glass of wine for maybe two or three hours. Brooding. Thinking. I remembered the other night, while in bed, I cried. Not knowing why, but I thought of you. No thought in particular. Just a momentary flash. Lying there in the dark, I welled-up for a second, saw you were there and then fell back asleep. And now, the wine now in my head tells me I was upset because I don’t miss you.

I don’t miss much these days.

Every Day A Little Death remembered in the pub.

I wanted you to think me a genius. But I opened my mouth, letting the words fall-out one by one and in the process became a fool. You tell me to ‘go to hell’ and all I can do is laugh, which causes you to laugh. We both know I’m in hell. I love you, and I tell you so. ‘Yeah I know,’ you say. You too, are in my hell.

We still make love as if it’s our first time. You hold me, touch and caress me as you always have, turning what I think is minutes into hours. I want it to never end. I awake the next day, look in your eyes and feel like a complete failure. You feel it too, my failure. My new day in hell starts, and you come with me – to keep me company.

Back from the pub.

You are sleeping. I watch you. An exercise I have performed many times before. I stand in the dark. Watching. Listening. To you. You are just so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. I well-up. What the fuck are you doing with me? I want you to go away and find yourself some happiness. I won’t miss you, you know. I won’t. I crawl into bed, failing miserably not to wake you. You roll-over to me, kissing my back and neck. ‘I love you.’

Kissing your hands, your beautiful hands, I reply, ‘Yeah I know.’

February 28, 2019

Legacy

horror crime death psychopath When I am gone, people will read these letters I put together. Read all these letters that I put together to write words. Words put together to make sentences. The sentences put together to tell a story. Letters telling my story.

I will cheat death in the end.

February 24, 2019

Still?

You have a gift for deception.
Handing it out as if it is a gift from the Queen herself.
But what can one do with deception,
(which is just a lie in disguise)?
Especially a lie presented as a gift?
It cannot be unwrapped and then rewrapped,
with the hope of re-gifting it to someone else.
At least not intentionally.
I have re-gifted your lies.
Not realising that’s what they were,
I re-gifted your lies wrapped in betrayal,
and then tied, ever so cleverly,
in a ribbon of your deception.

You told me, once, you loved me. Once.
And so desperate to believe in fairy tales,
I believed you.
But the deception of love was not your greatest lie.
Having told that lie many times before.
You easily applied it as you do mascara.
With one grand stroke, Love is applied.
And what can be easily applied,
can just as easily be washed away.
But your greatest lie?
Never leaving. Always remaining.
Thinking that door was firmly closed,
I awake each morning to find you are here. Still.
You said you would leave.
Why are you here?
Still?

You told me too, you loved my voice. Once.
That it was beautiful.
You beckoned me, use that voice,
that beautiful, beautiful voice.
And as I spoke, you stole it.
Stolen to claim it as your own,
because you know you have none,
well not one that anyone would listen to.
I wake each morning to find you are still here,
And scream!
But it is wrapped in your deception,
and then tied in a ribbon of your betrayal,
so all I get is your still silence.

You said you would leave,
but you are still here.

Still.

February 18, 2019

Everything You Need

You have nothing
and still don’t realise
that’s all you need.

Until you realise that,
you will always have
nothing.

February 16, 2019

Foolproof

A foolproof plan is only as foolproof as the fool that came up with the plan.

February 13, 2019

My Conversation With Death

For the past two years, he has steadfastly remained at my side. I hope I did not offend when I told him he had come too late.

“I died many years ago,” I said playing with the handkerchief I held in my hand.

He looked at me, and put a smirk on his face,

“Yes, I know. I hear your silence. I cannot kill, what is already dead.”

“So why do you stay?”

“To keep you company.”

Our silence, once again, returned.

February 11, 2019

The Judas

scabal test29447 Her decision had been made.

She snuck in, past the guards, during the very early hours of the morning. Having found his cell, she stopped and stared at him. In the darkness, she could see his swollen face, beaten so badly, she thought him nearly unrecognisable. This, she had not expected. She made the journey because she convinced herself that she needed to see him one last time. To tell him she was sorry, that everything was going to be ok, and he would back in his home soon, surrounded by his family. But now here, those words would not come. She was too afraid, and even more ashamed to call-out to him. She stood motionless for 15 minutes (maybe more). Still no words came. As she left, she heard him mutter – but she did not stop. She kept her eyes forward, carefully slipping past the guards once more, never looking back.

February 7, 2019