If I Could Tell You Anything Poem by Mark Heathcote

Maybe my frontal lobe is sleeping isn't working
Maybe I'm only living a half-life
Your voice is like a macaw a parrot
Drilling harsh decibels like it were a knife.

Why don't you,
Nibble my earlobes like you use to do?
Why don't you,
Hold my hand and griddle my soul, till it melts.

If I could tell you anything,
With any accuracy,
If I could tell you anything,
With razor-sharp efficiency,
It would be to go, kill yourself.
Or worse still, just go on drinking,
Drink yourself to, a premature death.

… See if I care.
"Why don't you."

… Why don't I what?

"Why don't you die you hermit frog? "
Join that big white pedalo in the sky.

If I could tell you anything,
To save your miserable life;
I swear, nothing would change
Look, how you've aged me.
Call yourself a sage
More-like sage and onion crisps
With a slipped disc
Can't get off your lazy-arse
Or get the cars MOT Service
Down the local garage
If I could tell you anything,

Drinking your-self near-dead, woman that isn't good.
Men have more to them, more substance
They're not just, providers of TVs and textiles
They are not just, subservient minimal wage earners.