west midd hospital august the 3rd

you text me at 3am
to tell me that you love me
and then ask me to send thirty quid
this happens at least twice a month
i always give
you always pay back
and i am yet to find out
how you found
such a cheap dealer
you don’t love me as much
at 8am or 10am or even 12pm
when you’re still asleep
and when you wake up
you are full of hate
for yourself and the rest of us
are just appendages
the situation gets worse
and the texts become weekly
then every few days
you aren’t paying back as much
and didn’t make it to my birthday
because you were skint
you could have borrowed the thirty quid for dinner 

but you said you couldn’t do that
out of principle
it was my birthday, i mustn’t pay for your meal
i send some money tuesday evening
a particularly sour day of the week
you tell me you love me on the phone
your words loose and sweet
the next day you don’t pick up
wednesday i hear you’re in the hospital
because you took the thirty quid and after that
all the pills in your kitchen cupboards
valium, codeine, pre-gabs
they pump your stomach
you come round,
the world returns
like a big wet fish round the face
and you’re pissed off
that another attempt at obliterating yourself
has proved unsuccessful
you lie there on starched bedsheets
fuming and broken
the look on your face is enough to bring

me halfway to my knees
remembering, god! how we loved life together once 

and it was so
so easy to do
we gave ourselves to it
like something to the slaughter
and you were so beautiful -
but it ain’t easy now, is it lil
living or dying
and there’s no simple way out
of this indiscriminate fix