B F Jones is French and lives in the UK. She has flash fiction and poetry in various UK and US online magazines.  Her poetry chapbook, Last Orders, and collection, Panic Attack, will both be published by Close To The Bone late 2021.

They never listened 

Words 

Falling down 

A black hole 

Bouncing 

Against sides

Of a vacuum well 

And echoing 

Nothing 

Sentences 

Forgotten

Distorted

Stretching

Long and vain 

Into immaterial 

Unintelligible 

Infinity 

Epitaph

Hindsight 

A lifetime 

Of wrong turns 

And pleads 

Into an 

Already dug up

Void 

Lies

He doesn’t exist

He’s just uncle Jeff 

Whose knee you sit on

Secretly enjoying

The contact of your young flesh.

There is no such thing 

As spending all that time 

With your tennis partner

But it’s so much easier 

To believe.

Or that friendship,

Cheap and impossibly shiny, 

Gold-sprayed rusty metal

Rubbing away fast leaving 

Blood-coloured stains.

And all wounds don’t heal with time

Who the fuck said that 

They re-open unexpectedly 

Tearing pink and fresh

Under the claws of timeless betrayal.