The Recidivist

Payslips line the walls
Addiction holds me from the very first embrace

Creeping Lust - the winding serpent
wears the bank’s approving smile upon its face

“He’s one of us”
Trusted to be drawn within and always ask for more

“He’s ours”
I hear the hissing from the writhing mass outside the door

“I only want to be conventional”
I cry

“We know”
They patiently reply

“That’s why you’re here”

“You came to us by choice”
There’s never been a need to use the instruments of fear

The heavy bolt slides home
and I realise that I’ve seen this room before

“We knew you’d soon be back”
The serpents taunt me from outside the door

I stand upon the chair
to reassure myself the outside world is hard

And see the beggars
with their dogs squatting all around the yard

I walk the walls
Pace out every corner of the cell

And touch the car keys, photographs of holidays
Little things I know so well

I lie upon the mattress
Reading payslips and, although the cell is small

They cover every brick
Year-on-year-on-year, I cannot count them all

I close my eyes for sleep
but stare at contradictions crammed inside my head

I clench my fists and weep
for the recidivist lying impotent upon the bed