Forgive the writer

For his self-indulgence

But his problem

Must be worked through

And quickly

Before it gets too difficult

And when Kele Okereke

Asks me if I'm hoping for a miracle

I have to reply

That I am

So here I write

And I write of lost love

Of ruined love

Belle and Sebastian love

Beaten to death

By a careless dose of paranoia.

She is eighteen months younger than I

And strikingly beautiful

And so I wept for days

And, bereft of hope and reason

I took a foolish course of action

Inspired by savaged pride

By delusions

And fever dreams of another man's ideal.

You were Rose

And she has always walked with me

She walks no longer

And you, too, have long overtaken me.