Help… I Cannot Possibly Snort All This Cocaine By Myself, Darling! by Paul Tristram

Hey, handsome, pick up the phone…
I know you’re there, I can sense ya.
I’m wearing that underwear
(If You Can Quite Call It That?)
which I bought last Saturday afternoon…
remember I told you about it
in one of the messages I left you
on Wednesday or Thursday?
I’m listening to the Backyard Babies
‘Robber Of Life’ song on repeat,
I got it just as soon as I saw you
wearing the shirt in Fagin’s…
right before you disappeared
into fucking thin air, again!
Anyway, I have an entire crate
of Carlsberg Export (Your Favourite!)
and a whole pay’s worth of ‘Chang-a-lang’
just waiting for you to dive into.
I’ll keep trying you on the hour,
every hour until you pick up, sweetie.
Lots of love… Alice xxxx
(You know, the one night stand
who is absolutely, positively,
never, ever going the FUCK away!)

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope at You can also read his poems and stories here!

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