Fed up

Oh, griping jealous one Empty-hearted but for hate and implosive need,

Your hideous scratching infiltrates and,

Echoes in the void of your tin-pan days

And I listen, knowing

It is doomed for you –

‘Schoolboy fixation’,

‘Oddity sensation’.

No one at a party

You never invited anyone to anyway

Self-obsessed as you are,

You cannot look after yourself

Seemingly pleasant

But quite dangerous in your stupidity

Your glue-like fixation and

The phone that rings at all hours,

Your name on the screen

Hideous scratching sounds

You at the door

To your own cell.