I don’t need a mattress or those pots and pans,

The shoes that come in seven colours

Or the exercise machine, that builds the killer abs.

But sometimes when it’s late at night,

I’m lonely and my demons eat away at cells of brain

That really I should cling to tightly in the dark.

And yet my card is in my hand, my mobile to my ear

And words are tumbling out my mouth

As I small talk with the Scottish man, on the other end.

I can tell he thinks I haven’t got a life,

He’s right. But sometimes he’s the only one

I’ll speak to in a day…. or week.

His voice is almost calming, like the lady on the screen

That claims my life will be complete

Once this blender makes it to my door.

The shopping channel reminds me who I am

At midnight when the tears have dried,

The pills have fizzed to nothing and

The soul has left my body for another sad and lonely day,

The desperate dreams have all but blown away.