
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.