Unpunctuated Self Pity Poem by cahen thrips

who will bandage my bleeding finger
when i cut it on a blade
who then will call me in to lunch
i never learnt how to load a dishwasher
nor use internet banking
my accounts are out of date
the central heating's a mystery
your cook books gather dust
the table needs a polish
your favourite knife begins to rust
and i will fall into decay
show nascent signs of age
and this is just the fourth day
of this seething silent rage
how dare you leave me thus
what were you thinking of
to take your final breath
too soon before i'm able
to cope with injudicious death
who will bandage my bleeding heart
who'll provide first-aid

December 2022