I knew a girl who was as highly strung
as Blanche Dubois
She had a sweet soul,
one of the last real ones perhaps:
vibrant and compassionate, any time of day.
I offered her the cure
to her constant plight
and once she let it in,
it eased her zapping mind.
But the brain still relentlessly
swishes
and
swallows
every good thought in her domain,
until it’s coated
in an atrocious slime.
‘Anxiety,
go for a holiday’
I heard her chanting one afternoon
from mid-battle ground...
You got wheels
Come pick up the cure
Feel the peace beneath your feet
It’s always been there honey,
You just gotta let it
paint your landscape: bright.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 7:56 AM UTC
Remember standing outside
the Mountain of Clouds
waiting on the bus to arrive,
and thinking:
“How the **** did we get here?”
There’s always a point
where the tree trunk ends
and the branches go on,
no matter how high it reaches.
I'm not sure if I’ve ever told you
this one before,
but a while back
Sentimental Stevie took my hand
in the snug
and confessed his lunacy to me.
The ash built up fast
then dropped to the red sand stone
beneath my suede boots
where I had to admit my age,
finally.
The smoke tastes
like burnt Strawberry
and lingers in the crevasses
of my meridian mouth
before I succumb to the image
in his head.
Anyway,
now we’re one week on
and I’m no further on
with finding out
if I belong,
or if that even matters
when you pull out the map
and lay it across the glovebox,
so I guess
I brought that place up,
that musky Titanium white room
filled with love and doom,
and all things good
because
I'm not dead yet.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 6:48 AM UTC
When I come home
I like to make myself
a midnight bowl
then lie beneath
the dripping ceiling
where
I am at peace.
My parents think
it’s a strange thing
for someone
to spend their life
in seclusion
behind these walls
but here -
I’m not being questioned,
nor judged.
Spread out on a cloud
and
blowing bigger ones
than the night before,
it is just
a time when people
aren’t knocking at my door,
elation comes and goes.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
Once a connection is lost,
they are severed from you
forever;
you can’t light the end of a burnt out match stick,
you can’t burn the bonfire
after it’s been hosed down
the second time.
None of that matters
when you’re half way down the Rabbit hole
watching the patterns
flashing through your mind,
and you just heard
someone promising
in a such genuine tone,
“I’ll always be down this way.”
But
you see the thing is,
I know
better than that now
and
so will you,
in time.
No matter where Nature drags
your rotting bones
it's stored in a safe black box
hidden under the stars,
or in some special place
at the back of your wardrobe
where (you think) no one
can ever go.
The lesson is to
look
before you fall.
To play the blues
before they play you.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 6:59 AM UTC
Jack rolls black joints
and tells us to
sip them like tea
under the kazeebo tonight.
The sky is covered
in diet Pepsi;
clumsy moon must have spilt it
over the canvass
of the day,
but it’s okay because he says
he’ll buy a new one
when the shops open next,
we know
he always tries his best.
Taylor says it feels
as though
we’ve been transported
to a resort in
the South of Spain.
I take my jacket off.
Chris asks us if he smells
of anything sinister.
I look up from the step
and whisper,
“If they don’t know by now,
then they’re morons
with office jobs,”
we share a laugh and
in that moment,
somehow we forget
that this, and everything else
will come to an end.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 5:03 AM UTC
I heard you say
across a cloud of smoke
that you hated
February,
is that why you left
on the 18th?
on the 18th hole
just as the course
was coming to a close
I watched you turn around,
walk away
at half past two on that
Thursday,
and as you did
I could see myself smiling
on the phone to my best friend
I could hear myself saying,
"Don't be silly,
I've got nothing to worry about."
With my feet firmly planted
on the freshly sprayed grass
that costs twice my month's wage
to preserve,
I reached out for a club
to batter over your head
but instead discovered my caddy
had gone astray,
and all I could do
was watch you walk away
in that poncey way
you always walked away,
I know you think your something else
but now
I have a handicap
that would put yours to shame any day.
Don't believe me?
Rematch February 18th 2017.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
Arsenic sea under my steps
The echoing loud
Too hard to forget.
Peculiar things happened while
Labouring through
This darkened street
Where the monsters sleep.
Hitchock we're done
With your whistling numbers
I need something less daunting tonight
Why don't you
Give me some light.
I'm only passing through,
Just give me some advice.
What way do I go for the rest of my life?
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
You're a joke
I laugh about every day.
That seems to be the only way
To stop myself from crying
Or setting things on fire.
My friends think they've got the old me back, but she's still recovering from the heart attack.
Sometimes I pray for a head crash that will knock every beautiful thing you promised out of my nights.
It never seems to arrive.
I just hope I won't go asking for it some dull hour under severe lights and a dancefloor.
The only comfort seems to be that you are far away in a lonely, bored and unsure state.
I know that you don't think great things of me anymore,
That's why I've finally decided to let you go and forget about the wasted minutes I spent hunched over the *** of my heart ladling too much into your bowl.
I ought to have known you would get sick of the same taste.
Everyone eventually does in this world.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
As I poured pints
in the runaway bar,
I thought of you
and what you'd be thinking about
in that moment too.
I shook
as the optics fell from their place
and the walls came crashing
down around us.
I fought with my elbows
across the rubble
searching for a light,
or
your soft hand
reaching down to me,
but
only the dead were in sight.
As I closed my eyes
for one last time
I remembered the dewy day
you told me that
our love could survive anything.
I'm having second thoughts about that now.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
It rained for three days
before you left.
I had people chatting me up
in bars and cafes
and I rejected them without realising
that I'd need them all
when you were gone
to help fill the void.
2 months on my own
is starting to take its tole;
I miss kissing with a *** in my hand
outside club doors
and running to catch a taxi
so you can take me home.
Now, I'm only smoking
to help me forget
the promises you made
every time you got out of my bed.
I'm making false friends
and pretending I'm cool
without you.
But nothing is the same
now that I heard you're with
girls who look nothing like me
and pretending that you're clean.
I'm the only one who could ever
see through you and
that ***** me up somehow,
just knowing there are people
around you
who dont have a clue what
or who you really are.
In my darkest moments I wish you could have stayed
instead of ******* off with art students
who wear costly vintage clothes.
Come round to my door and knock it down with your skinny legs,
I will fall right into your arms screaming:
"never leave, again."
I will pour my heart out,
just for you.
And I wonder if that makes me an angel or a fool?
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC