I want to call you

on the telephone, I miss

feeling inferior in your presence

and how you have that certain way

of making me foolish, uncared for,

a down and out punch bag

and the emotional wreck with scars

flowing with fresh blood, simple,

mine, closing my eyes and letting the pain

wash away. I feel the need to call upon you

so that I can feel deserted

and frightened,

alone and unwashed,

so that I can feel something,

so that I can hurt myself today,

for while I have even the barest smile

upon this aging face I don’t recognise,

then I have no reason to

beat myself to death.

Ian D. Hall 2016