Am I a bad communicator?

What do you need me to be? Silent, patient, restless, antagonistic, annoyed. If you are having an attack. If you are knocking over glasses. If you are speaking quickly and asking me to do things for you. If you are suggesting, malevolent – with false intent – I see you for who you are. I will leave you. I will abandon you and let you flatten yourself. Goodnight. Goodbye. Goodluck you fucking phoney. full of poison, sad and lonely. Sucking from your familiar teats of teenage success. May your gardens fail and your paths meet dead unexpected ends. Trip on your tail, lose your things and become unruly. I have made a poor choice in your company. But I will learn from this and I will hold it against us like a rubber tire in the dock. You shan’t scratch my hull. Rocked gently to sleep. Little bo peep has lost her sheep and the game is up. Cheating and haunted. Talkative tells, bad smells and god awful luck. I wish this day was over. I wished long before your unruly interjection and fancy my chances at dejected rejection. Toes of infection. Bad choices, sick voices, posh nosh awash at what cost. Don’t self proclaim, vain insane, brain, headaches and flames. Burning horrid in my helpful hope. I mope, ungrateful fateful plateful of gates full of meadows with wood, brick, wheat, stone and sheep.

Little Bo Peep – strange drunk creep.

Early night in the last week of London Town.

I should have done my research.

I should have made some healthy, helpful, wistful demands.

Sucking up silent, gets you nothing.

Strong will, part way. Drain yourself of needs. Get an early night. Be happy, be better tomorrow.

This is my life advice for myself. Chelsea vs Arsenal. Cliche, clutch, thankyou very much. Basic.

Money in,

Money out. Try your best and bay above your average.

Savages.

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