If I leave a blank page,

If I should just leave the scab

alone, like me, not pick at it,

not to get my finger nail

underneath it and slightly

leave it looking off coloured compared

to the rest of the skin that surrounds it,

would that please you, would it make you

jovial, a feeling of being eight

clouds above me, far out of sight, spit down

to my eye and showing me the arse

you wish me to kiss, bare bottom

and needing a wipe,

or should I just continue,

pretend that all is alright,

that all is high spirits

and that I am just a blank page

for you to put your words upon.

Ian D. Hall 2017