I sit and I scribble,

With black ink pens,

Black ink pens and scribbles,

I scribble and I ribble my single given life away.

And when I shower,

I wash the ink off my hands,

and clean the deepest paper cuts down to the ends.

It stings and it rings,

But so do my pulsing fingers

And beating heart.


She sits at a desk

with black ink pens and scribbles.

Black ink pens and scribbles.

She scribbles and ribbles her single given life away.

And when she showers,

She washes the ink off her hands,

And cleans the deepest paper cuts down to the ends.

She stings and she rings,

But so do my pulsing fingers

And beating heart.


I sit and I scribble,

With black ink pens,

Black ink pens and scribbles,

I scribble and I ribble my single given life away.

And when I shower,

I was the ink off my hands,

And clean the deepest paper cuts down to the ends.

It stings and it rings,

But so do my pulsing fingers

And beating heart.


I die with this pen in my hand,

And my book of scribbles below my head.

She dies with her pen in her hand,

And her book of scribbles below her head.

I die with this pen in my hand,

And my book of scribbles below my head.

It's too soon to live in memories
I try to convince myself
Years don't change everything
I try to convince myself
This is no prison I'm living in
I have the keys, the locks are not broken
I try to convince myself I have a reason
For not using them

Grab a pen and some paper
Some of these are important
I just know they are
These are the things that made me what I am
Aren't they?
The sum total of all my experiences, right?
I need to chronicle and catalog
Separate the wheat from the chaff
This will set me straight
Or maybe not...could be a waste of time

Time takes them away, one by one
Teases, bringing some back
Then snatching them away again
Despite my best efforts
To hoard them
Years don't change everything
The cruel workings of time
Are eternal

Of this I am convinced

I've sacrificed freedom
To live in a cage
To settle for memories
For fear that hurt would break in
And make itself comfortable
Quick to remind me of the memories
It helped make

I'm convinced I have no reason
To break these chains
An empty house, alone
Is better than such bad company

What’ll happen when you die? Will I lose you again? That would mean finding you. Undoing years, unpicking frayed edges fixed with the wrong coloured yarn. I see you at funerals. At Mum’s you were angry. So was I - but I concealed it. Played numb. At Dad’s you were shaking. I thought your nerves were finally shot. Or that the little boy, naked standing in snow, washing his clothes after a petit-mal fit, was still shivering and waiting for Mum. Then I noticed you weren’t drinking. Said you’d been stitched (again) by police- who’ve always had it in for you. Like they pass this hatred down through rank and generation, onto every town you’ve ever lived in? So that explained the orange-juice-and-lemonade made tidal in your hand. I want to rewind you. You were trouble, of course - but you were nice-trouble and I loved you. I looked up to you. I didn’t see the Big-Brave-Wall you were building. Or the things that made us not-normal. When I was born you were thirteen and already broken. When I was old enough to understand Mum had gained an upper hand, and you always sided with Dad. Even though you showed signs of knowing he was the ******* that ****** us up? I didn’t get it as bad. She learned. Mistakes made on you weren’t made on me. For a start she never left me with him. I was less ******. Or maybe not. Maybe just differently-****** and quicker to heal. My first crush? The copper who called for you, countless times - while I curled m'self round m' cornflakes, burning - too scared to move or turn, rotisserie style, in front of the blue-gas flame. And somewhere in me, not so deep, that teenage ju, that one less-mended who danced-all-weekend-and-slept-where-she-landed, still boasts: Had him y’know. Another notch on a well-and-truly nibbled ‘post. I cried at Dad’s funeral, but I wasn’t crying for him. Why would I?

You are in control
I thought maybe I was
         oh boy was I wrong

I thought I had the upper hand
the only reason it was upper
        was because you pinned it there

I mirror your movements
because mirror is all I can do
         if I am to keep up with you

Take control
Take the lead
        take me

I remember a time when time was just a number,
where the only times where school and dinner.
When I didn't have to grow up to be what I want,
but I could act it out in a secret lair or a parking lot.
As you become old, they try to rid you of you imagination,
well I say nay as I fly my submarine in a train station.
You know what take my wallet, live my life,
because I am a ninja hiding in the night.
Go ahead, try and catch me if you can,
Big old stupid corporate man.
You might be sophisticated and civilized,
so what, I am a 50 foot spider that can freakin' fly!

I am in love with words.
We have been reduced to words.
To descriptions of our day,
To small talk,
To simple exchanges,
To hellos and good-byes.

I am in love with words.
I read them over,
And over,
And over again.
I move them around,
Pinning fragments together,
Forming sentences,
Paragraphs,
Novels.
I am like a kindergartener,
Building a collage of words.

I am in love with words,
At night the spaces between letters blur,
And form lines.
They paint pictures.

I am in love with words.
I hold them close to me as I sleep,
And I dream of tomorrow.

the moon lit my way
as I took a walk
it was two in the morning
my ears cold

the moon lit my way
as I laid down on the sidewalk
and sang
looking up at the glowing clouds

the moon lit my way
as I traced the streetlights
down the road
accompanying me all along

the moon lit my way
as I let my eyes wander
following the ripples in the sky
and the moon becoming two

the moon lit my way
as I stood up
startling a few passerbys
as I brushed myself off

the moon lit my way
as I began again
taking steps
to lay down again

the moon lit my way
as I lost my mind
to only breathing
and the steady feel of the ground

the moon lit my way
for I had no direction home
but still I belonged

the moon lit my way
as I walked on.

Coach, put me in!
I'll hustle, and I've got heart.