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Anna Jackson Feb 2019
One for the proactive, that never look back,
On the ticking time bomb that remains in their past.

If you join me on a brisk walk down memory lane,
Be expecting a sprint with hurdles and pain.

Life’s a masala, like a bowl of *** pourri,
Do you have Bernard’s watch, or a cup of tea you can pour me?

The bittersweet taste makes everything better..
Watch me paint my face - the ultimate trendsetter,

While I dance around the truth and shake around the fear,
That’s been shadowing me now for a good 20 years.

It started with a breath and ended with a scream,
As many lives unravelled in silence and bad dreams.

So many scenes forgotten, rejected and deleted,
As my young mind drowned but refused to be defeated.

Defaced and defiled, no attempt to be reconciled,
No retribution resonates with the word *******.

One person to blame, one person Scot free,
One person rewarded immunity.

But would the penultimate moment when intervention intervenes,
Cause combustible chaos awaiting to be seen?

So read my tangle of nonsense words scribbled in scratchy black pen,
As I’ll never be able to colour out of the lines again.

Every ounce of innocence and youth has already been depleted,
Let us mourn a life-post, never to be repeated...
Anna Jackson Feb 2019
Clouds blowing through your smog induced brain,
Sipping on beer while you medicate your pain,
Everybody's gone but you haven't even noticed,
Easy come, easy go, to you its all the same.

A danger to yourself? I'm yet to ascertain,
Talking to a bench while people eye you with disdain,
You have a problem - I'm not telling you to abstain but,
Wake up pal, smell the air and see the sun again.

A simple life is something we all crave,
It gets easier dependant on how you behave,
But you're popping pills making yourself ill on a thoughtless roller coaster,
And lying to yourself saying you're going through a phase.

The world has passed you by in your comatosed state,
You watch, but don't feel for reasons you can't explain,
You want to live life but can't handle your own mind,
So you dumb it back down and fly home to space.

Have fun on your 'travels' while you cement your own fate,
Thanks for giving me this lesson to recommunicate,  
You can get dealt a **** hand that foils all your plans,
But essentially your whole life is custom made.
Anna Jackson Feb 2019
Weary eyed shop workers curse the sight of dawn,
A drunken Hen stumbles and her tutu gets torn,
The smell of burning chip fat invades my nose,
‘Chips for breakfast?!’ I cry, chewing marshmallows,
I venture towards the tower feeling free as a bird,
When SPLAT on my shoe lands a seagull ****.
Rough with the smooth - that’s what this town’s all about,
I think as a man pulls his Jokebooks out,
‘It’s for charity!’ he lies. ‘I live here mate..’
‘Oh right, soz love, fancy a date?’’
I ignore the geezer and gaze out to the sea,
Wondering where the Lochness Monster might be..
Soaking up the sights as 2 drunks start to fight,
‘OI’ I shout, as a kid sets a bin alight.
Skaters jump like kangaroos on the bandstand,
As health freaks tut, running rapid on the sand.
Children charge like apes in supersensory mazes,
While parents eye arcades with terror on their faces,
Suddenly crisp packets dance in the air,
As the wind picks up and whips at my hair.
‘It’s hometime for me!’ A hailstone hits my eyeball,
And the blue sky runs behind some grey clouds of storm,
There’s not many places with 4 seasons in a day!
So don’t let the weather throw you into disarray.
‘Blackpool’ I say, ‘a town of stark contrast…’
As a horse driven carriage then a rat stroll past.
A town to make memories no matter how worn,
That time never erases as new ones get born.

Back in Bispham, where the prom’s a bit safer,
The oldies don’t buy 3 Hammers, just pies and papers,
I step off the number 11 bus and shout ‘Thanks!’
The bus driver grunts, takes his hand out his pants,
Then speeds down our beautiful, glistening prom,
Full of lights that probably shouldn’t still be on.
Anna Jackson Feb 2019
Vietnam's got a raw, dangerous side to explore,
And whilst I'm far from one to detract or deplore,
From the beauty of the place, the gentle souls of the people,
There's some dark things balancing the good with the evil.

Prostitutes are shedding clothes and dignity in bars,
Whilst *****, old men sit with wet mouths ajar,
People claim to help you whilst emptying your pockets,
Because they can't afford to live on their pitiful pay dockets.

Prices sky rocket based on the colour of your skin,
But we're from a wealthy country so we can't make a din,
The protectors - the police will only help you for a bribe,
And if you can't pay the price then you'll get locked inside.

Just alive malnourished dogs with heat exhaustion,
Rats dwell beneath restaurant tables waiting for their portion,
Agent Orange victims left with face contortion and extra limbs,
While aging, old ladies gather supper from the bins.

Children roam the streets at night and noone blinks an eye,
So much is wrong that you're left wondering what's right,
But in this world of chaos can we chastise their plight?
Whilst we take advantage, judge, rule, bomb others and fight.

The 'United' Kingdom separates itself from the world,
Covering up so many lies it makes your toes curl,
Corrupt chains thwart families hopes and beliefs,
Let's form orderly queues for the corporate thiefs.

Every country has a blood money epidemic,
We simply hide it better as we're more academic,
A nation crammed full with political actors,
The fact we follow suit is the critical factor,
To the downfall of our country and the people who reside.
It does not abide to say, ‘Well, at least we tried!’,
But as we all know in this puppet show *******,
We've only ourselves to blame, therefore I'm the biggest culprit.
Anna Jackson Feb 2019
Wake up and smell the coffee, focus as the pan flips,
Time for the rat race and its monotonal semantics,
Suss out agendas - get ahead of the mind tricks,
Brush over simple truths with pointless lies and politics.

Another year gone - stale memories as the frost licks,
Dignity diminished, allegiance pledged to bosses,
Anticipating failure as you organise your post-its,
Institutionalising life, leaving no room for chances.

Clutching at a purpose yet defeated as the clock ticks,
Finding closeness in distance and solace as the storm hits.

— The End —