They said it was love,
They knew nothing,
Their home was slowly rotting,
The kitchen smelt of sweetcorn
And their bedroom had broken in two.
Under the floorboards
The shadows saw it coming,
Smiles only crept
When worries were ignored
And troubles took a smoke break.
In dreams it seemed like fiction
All descriptions and soliloquies,
Just one with words to speak,
The other turning off the lights
And falling into the darkness.
They said it was love,
They knew nothing,
They were a tapestry of misery
Sown together with threads of hope,
Frayed loose and spastic tongued.
The end was punctuation free,
More a fizzle than a bang
As confusion saw the sunset,
Painted burnt and wildly sore,
Nothing suggesting tomorrows.