The Hangman - Matt Berry

With broken fingers I weave life’s tapestry

I am in darkness, with no control at to how the cards will fall

I just manage the deck

A morose funk hangs over me

It comes, and it goes like the professional harlot

A weaker man would rip out his hair from its root

While running to seek guidance from the parson

«Send in the clowns» they said

By all means, try it

But do be prepared for the mass of blood and red noses

For I am in no mood for such twisted capers

Like the spring hare I shall run and run and run

Knowing the second I stop, if only to catch breath

It would all be over

I then become the prey

Even the man, built from clay with the strength of seven

Is of little consequence as soon as the carpet of love

Is ripped from beneath his feet

A stench, as bad as death, fills the air

As the desperate Lothario enters the shed

With him, he brings all the self-assured arrogance of the hangman

Today he is safe

Tomorrow he is over

Alone in my bed, I revisit the day’s occurrences

Making all the necessary alterations

An apology is weak

A regret is wretched

A figure appears on the horizon

As it is approaching, it begins to take shape

A man

I notice his head looks towards his feet

As if unable to meet my gaze

He looks familiar

You there!

Who by shame brings this bad news?

Oh

It is you

The hangman

Do come in