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