NaPoWriMo day 18

The Lion

Who’s that caterwauling on the makeshift stage
drinking a pint of lager
teaching me a thing or two
talking about love
singing about hate
how hard it is to live
in this unfathomable city
in the bar where I last had a panic attack
where I now sit unable to move
but yet I smile
with my eyes more than my lips
staring you down
where me and Max go drinking
when we want to shake things up
with red candles on the tables
leaving his wife at home
pale-faced, suspended from a rope
making it hard for me to continue
remembering who it was who was singing
“It was me”, said the lion.


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