Lights Out In Manchester

society is such 

a morally bankrupt tapestry,

an atomic bomb of degeneracy

with a timer

clicking

and 

ticking

and

ticking

and

ticking  

you’ve got them 

tripping

out the doorways

pissing 

in the streets

shagging  

up the shutters,

coked up nutters 

fighting a wheelie bin,

..... the wheelie bin won,

21st century harlots

propositioning doormen

with Vodka breath

and e-cigarettes,

talk in tongues

“To many cocktails Hun

you best call it a night”

now enters a dumb

little gobshite 

clutching his lady bag, 

he ain’t such the big man 

standing tall at 5.2ft, 

it was hard to tell

if he was gay or straight,

either way he got his

butt handed to him

on a plate,

the worm has turned 

society squirms,

the decomposed 

need to relearn 

humility, 

butchery

of the body 

projects normalcy,

the more tattoos 

the bigger the bore,

the skimpier the clothes

the bigger the whore,

carefully honed manicures 

end up, arse on the floor 

come 3am, 

drunk disorientated 

dull-tards

dive bomb the blondes 

in their miniskirts

and thongs,

they don’t take No! 

for an answer

as they try 

to romance her

fake tan, 

fake boobs, 

fake eyelashes

fake vigour .... oh! 

such a temporary disguise, 

come the morning,

that first, deafening look 

in the mirror, never lies