A First

I've burnt myself, I think
Sparks flew, landed on
My breast, a fingertip,
The little bony left wrist
I've allowed too much wine into the house.

After a conversation with my mother -
Another where she brought
The cats into it,
Speaking to them as if I wasn't here,
Hanging on the telephone,
Wishing we didn't have to talk
About nothing, every single day -
I punched the cushion
With pheasants on.
A precious cushion,
And I with angled fists,
Hitting with both like a skinny boxer.

I watched the telly
(Here I go, reaching for the bottle again
It sounds so dramatic.
It's just, I don't know,
This time I bought a big bottle,
£5.49, instead of the tiny bottles
That should be enough for one.
Maybe it's a watershed,
I've too much time on my hands.)
I laughed loudly, sporadically.
Do my neighbours
Think I'm lonesome?
Listen for a harmony of cackles,
Only to hear one, bum note?

I piss every twenty minutes.
It's lime green, always.
I lit a peppermint candle in there earlier
To hide the smell of dust.
I went out and left it burning.
I forget to buy handwash.
Handwash is important.
I've a bar of soap, but
It's been unwrapped for too long,
Now cloaked in
Dead skin and mites.

I've hurt myself, I think
Leaving too much to the imagination.
Drinking on a hangover
(Always with the drinking,
Where has this new habit come from?)
I try not to think about the future.
In the hall with the lights off,
Eyes closed, I stumble past the
Piles of stuff to be recycled,
Walk fairy steps,
Pretend I'm high up,
On a tight-rope.