I want you to see
You who claim to love me
You who claim to save me
From that which I can't see
Ahead, but I know in my bones
I can't let bygones be bygones
Right now - I've worked a week for two
Or three, and I'm tired, and I have had too
Four weeks locked up through no fault of my own
And I am wearing close to the bone
And I'm dying on my own
I am not-crying on my own
I can't say I'm alone
When I'm out of the zone
Where the world is a stranger
And my sun turned from me in danger
As if I would **** him with my pallor
Because I asked for his light, in squalor
Or maybe just too young
And realising how much is wrong
And how much has been wrung
And how I have a limit to being strong
And how I loved too much
That I'm now sick of the loving, friendly, familial touch -
I did not realise how much I suffered
Until today's sweet sunny plans, by me, were scuppered.

This is desire; nothing you have heard of in
Romantic poems, of red, of pink, of green,
Of gold and pearlescent white - it is a picture
Of me in my pjs, with my sexiest underwear
Beneath, for no reason at all - I have my feet
Up on the footstool of our stained sofa set
Coffee and alcohol and goodness-knows-what
From bygone beggars who lived our student lot
And it's quarter past two, and I have a well-eaten
Granny Smith core in my hand, and the day has beaten
Me. The week has beaten me, but hey!
I smiled through it all, almost all the way.
And my household (mis)adventures mean I carry a stale chipshop
And washing smell about me. And I stop
And I think, yeah, I'm only up because I'm working late -
I'm only working late because I got up late -
I only got up late because it finally hit me -
It finally hit me and I'm working on trying to get by
So I record myself on IG live reading a Victorian novel
I discovered two summers ago when another total
Fool decided it was wise to break my heart
Because I'm needing the typed-in hope, on my part,
Discovering that I'm sitting with a journey ahead
Stilled, getting over the craziness, the pain in my belly and head,
A hundred things I could do fresher and if I just lived normally
And I'm sitting, again, a picture of nonchalant insanity
Over a pair of strong tan arms, great hands, quick-fingers,
Beautiful blue eyes, a jaw, a beard, a chest, a heart that lingers
Everywhere, in every word you speak - it resounds, rather,
Root-chords and sevenths and sixths and fourths, and, bother,
I write you as a blazon when it was your whole and soul
I loved. "I loved you once". I think I love you now, the fool
I am, staring into the dark night, the flats across where they
Have potted tropical plants and a couple and a cat, and hey,
I sing whenever the window is open, hoping you will pass
And hear my clear voice lauding your songs and more, but alas
These hopes are vain, and the window was open wide tonight
And I wonder how many I entertained, not going left or right,
Dimming the lights, thinking about you, and losing my mind
As I still do? No, it's not a **** picture, but I'm inclined
To say it's real, and if that ain't ****, the ****** says,
Then I sure as heck will never settle for what is.

I've been falling
Or rather standing
Before you
And falling in your eyes
And rising in your eyes
And too due
To tell you
That it's true
I've left the plain
Secure and sane
And I endure pain
Quiet and vain
Loud and bold
The old tales told
Of lovers like I
And still I try
And all
Will fall
Or maybe it's all the other way about -
It's only that I'm flying, and you're not.

Why is my head empty?
I have a million ideas of what to write
But none of them seem right.
Perhaps just this is plenty.

Some things get you down,
And getting up again,
Just when you had regained your crown
This morning, after ages of pain,
Is difficult, especially alone.
Talking to loved ones feels only slightly better;
All methods of self-care are gone;
So I write a letter,
A short thing, saying, Guys
Life has lows and highs:
There will be vermin on this earth -
Don't let their arrogance push down your own worth.

There is a story that I'm told:
When I was only six years old,
A playmate I met in Uni parks;
When her mother found out that I
Lived just past the marsh,
I was declared bad company.
To which I did reply:
"When I am rich and famous,
I won't treat you as you have treated me."
Since then, I have met many an ignoramus
But never 'til this evening, did I recall the reply,
Of a hurt, stung, but sage and sweet child: The six year old I.

I still look at Oxbridgers with envy;
I still look at high-school kids bleary-eyed;
I think, I'll leave home and go crazy;
Looking back on old love, I'm cold inside.
My being's regret: I know full well why
It's all past my ears - there once was a time
When gratitude meant something; And, young, I
Was humble. I rose, and I fell, to climb
Yet again, dusty-handed, dishevelled,
And bitter. Do I not shine anymore,
You stars? I can't ask why I am so levelled
Because I know. I can't wail any more
Because I would waste more hours I don't have.
My speech is of a man half in the grave -
I'm only half out of my parents' house;
Wailing would be an insult to my nous.