You have a Painting in your Attic

Looking again
I never realised that parts of you
Stuck out like broken bones
And the smell of too much cologne hung off your skin
Like flakes of rot

I never realised
Your skull was so scuttle-like and mottled
Greyed and stained like a stepped over dust sheet
Or your dim paper boy walk, heavy booted and clumsy like a
Darted fat drunk.

I never saw
Your  eyes
The colour of warm lager that washes out the taste
Of the morning after
Or the words spat from your split lips
Propaganda of your times
Self serving, blank and sharp suited in their sell-something eloquence

No I never realised

But now I look again

I do.

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