- My last visit, and you again
complaining of cold;
- yet with the bedsit sealed tight
shut
- and you huddled by the single bar
fire,
- the festering room stiffles me.
- I clank my way through the
littered debris
- to crack a latch on the far
window,
- which appropriately opens to the
fizz
- of your next can.
- Talking sense into you is
impossible,
- my words cause ripples of good
intention
- then sink, forgotten, to your
deepest part.
- You slur a list of health
problems;
- and while I wonder what's happened
- to the man, once so full of life
and fun,
- you gape your mouth to show me
rotting stumps -
- reluctantly, I peer down the grim
hole.
-
- " What a bloody mess ! "
I shout.
- " A bloody mess........
-
- .......bloody mess......."
You faintly echo.
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