Autumn's amber hued
Sunday afternoons
are laced with regret
for days gone to soon.

Yellowed pages
folded and faded,
are the leaves underfoot,
sweet and decaying.

Now the fall moon
will be waning blue,
and so goes this life,
a memory too.

.. and I thought they were smoking, on drugs or just joking when they  were speaking to me

but the blue clouds lingered there,
I had to tear myself away from the balance wheel to feel anything

the tune of time whistled by me
I started singing along
out through the wind tunnel and into the storm.

Form 4 C
back in the classroom and there's a set square on the table
teacher's not able to control me
and I am the truant again

and I thought it normal
the
Informal education

It was prostitution on a grand scale
we were for sale to the future and backed up against the past

But fast and foolhardy I hardly had chance to win at the pool hall before school came to catch me

The balance wheel pivots on the tip of a pin
if I turn and spin or smoke a joint I can almost see the point of it

Just joking
I can't see
nothing but
The
Bogeymen.

It'll get better before
Armageddon
said no one
forever
Amen.

I try to write with the pen and
it's like I'm cutting my arms again
getting rid of the pain
is just
ripping me apart

someone over there says,
'are you alright?'
yeah
Jack
I'm alright
and Jackie's okay
or she was when I saw her
yesterday in the mirror,
but don't tell her

she gets mean and I mean
real mean
like mad mean
and I mean
am I that bad?

it's always the two of us unless
she takes over and then I go under
I
wonder why she does that?

Nothing is simple
nothing's ideal and
sometimes I think
everything is unreal

she doesn't like us thinking like that
I mean really doesn't like it
last time I thought like that
she bit my lip so hard
I cried.

I tried again with the pen when she was sleeping
two lines
only two lines
then she woke and
I went under
again.

You think you've found a niche
capiche?
and yet nothing's the way that it seems.

It's just an exhaust pipe hype
and
they want you to **** in the fumes,
I'm locked in the cycle
darkness looms.

Suicide don't mean you're dead
it's just the death of dreams
and the sound of failure just ahead is
the locked room full of screams.

After the future has ****** ya and before the grim reaper gets ya
someone says,
' I told ya'
but
you knew that all along.

Poor Teddy was threadbare
and wearing pyjamas
which was slightly old hat
in this modern
day

but some littlekin loved him,
cared for him
and dressed him
for bed.

each breath takes me nearer to my death
a grave is saved for me in some corner of a silent cemetery
my bones in any event
will crumble.

I stumble through these certainties like a drunken ship tossed by the stormy seas

I am no captain.

A course was plotted out for me
a map that I could never see
what certainty
what certainty?

These magic tricks that trick and in
these there is something sick,
why not just draw a card?
life is hard and
that's the test.

Well,
my pupils are dilated, the blood is running hot and
I have become fixated on those things I never got

a bit like playing ' spot the ball ' and winning ****** all,

I'm okay with it
I have to be
as it seems that
I've been put in handcuffs
and
I do not have a key.

what certainty,
but positive
or negative
we only have
one life to live,

I keep telling myself that.

Single
not single
no longer shingle
on the shore

the tide brings us too
a different view of the beach
out of reach
out of touch
not so much
anymore

no longer shingle
on the shore