What we mean, when we say we dislike people...

Red-eyed, stumbling home between shadows

of what if’s, and what the fuck for’s,

we trip up and down the curbs,

melting into the sound of gravel underfoot,

at midnight, when no fucker is around to ruin it.

Here, we cross a disturbing sea of

broken streetlights on darkened pavements,

still swaying from empty road detours

and chip shop lights keeping their shit together.

I like to think they stay open for that reason,

pointing you in the direction of home,

whispering screams into what’s left of you,

“It’s that way, you drunken fuck.”

Still, voices from the jitties tempt you,

echoing distant jingles of cat collars and

rolling beer bottles on metal fences,

seasoned with anticipation, attempting

to honour insomniac open signs,

though confrontation feels more alive.

And we’ll take the jitty route anyway,

because we love the shadows

of ‘what if’s, and ‘what the fuck for’s.

We die of excitement at the thought.

Here, we cross a disturbing sea.

No fucker is around to ruin this.

No fucker is around to ruin me.