It's almost 1am and I sit alone in the pitch dark. There are no shadows because there is no light. Outside nothing moves and nothing stirs. The city is so terribly quiet, like no other night in history. There is no wind, no blowing tin cans and no echoes from high-heeled shoes. The bars are all closed and the drunks have all gone home.  All that exists is Me, and so tonight I will have a conversation with myself. The answers will be in the silence, for Silence is always the truth. John, this is all for you... and it always only ever was.

“My name is Tristram Alan Spencer. I am 31 years old.”

Nothing stirs.
Silence is always the truth. I listen to the silence.

“I grew up in London between two unloving parents. All I ever wanted was affection.”

The world remains a hush.

“I done well at school, though could have done better. My main preoccupation wasn't with Thomas Hardy but rather our slender narrator Mr. Farrel-Jones. I willingly gave him a blowjob in the book-store cupboard.”

There's not a murmur, and silence is always the truth.

“At 17, so drunk I couldn't walk, I was raped by two men in a Soho nightclub. After falling through the emergency exit, the police found me face down in the street with my pants hanging off my ankles. I was covered in blood, cum and shame.”

A woman laughs, trees whisper and a dog lets bark.

“I am a good man. I am a bad man. I am an honest man. I am a crook.”

Life's orchestra sits mute.

“27 days ago I wandered into a storm. In those winds and rain I lost the only person I have ever loved. He was a man with angel wings who took me far away. World, I need to know this night: will he ever take me away again? Will his magic soon return?"

I wait for Hell to erupt but the cymbals do not crash.
Silence is always the truth. I listen to the silence.

“My Charming Man, I now turn to you. It's a dark black night, but through it we can make history. Hear me now and answer with no words. John, do you still love me? John, did you ever once?”

The wind whips up and in the distance alarms ring out. My eyes blink wet and I want this night to end. I will surely suffer until the end of time.


  1. Fuuuuuuck.But in a good way.
    (am i allowed to say the f word? if not, plz ignore it)

  2. You are a wonderful poet. I hope you do not suffer till the end of time.

    I'm new here. I noticed you on my follower list and followed you back here. I am going to read a few more older posts. I will be back!


  3. I am intrigued with your writing and what you write about.

    I also hope you do not suffer till the end of time.

  4. I think the possibility for endless suffering is as likely as the possibility for endless frivolity.

  5. @ Nerstes: Fuck, f-u-c-k, FUCK... of course you can swear here. It's enouraged, especially if my mother is reading. X

    @ PetitFleur: A wonderful poet? Me? You're a wonderful liar! lol X

    @ WannabeV: That depends when time ends. Thanks so much. X

    @ Robert: What about this then Robert. We are frivolous up until 50 and then suffer because of it until the grave. That's a fair deal. X


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