Banging my head against a brick wall this morning.
Reminded me how hard it is.
Me stood in pyjama’s on the landing with a smoking sawn off Idea of grandeur.
When the phone rang.
But not as loud as the ringing n my head.
As i half wished i was dead.
And my idea of grandeur hung on by it’s teeth.
When all the while underneath
My real me became free.
Because It’s not dinner it’s tea.
pauliepaul
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