I walk with ambitious expectations
My head filled with slow frustration
Air around me is radiation
clouding in my lungs

My heart beats like
a steady train
Slow but heavy,
polluting my brain
Everyone around me is evil, or am
I just mad?

Stop looking, stop thinking.
Stop all the foolish
queries.
Doubt and hope and
endless confusion
weighing me down
as I quiver with fear.

I can't, I have to,
I will.

Outside I can breathe,
on my own,
when the bats and
the flies no longer surround
me.
Fresh air so
smooth and clean,
Inside there it's
clouded and thick.
Now I am a bird,
though my wings
will not lift.

The rain starts
to pour but I
cannot shift.
I try and I try but
my bones are too
weak, hollow,
compressed
and my eyesight's
turned bleak.

I realize suddenly,
in all my fear,
that behind me
was my future,
all I hold dear.
Water is rising,
my lungs start
to fill.
I'm no longer
a bird,
but a flower.
No power.
No will.

I spend the morning thinking.
Shall I go to church tomorrow?
Or shall I be cast into a dark, cold park
pursing my shivering lips around cigarette
ends, tasting the taste of plant fumes which
slowly descend in clouds from my mouth,
dispersing and reversing
into the air of my mind. Fogging my thoughts
So that I laugh in the face of absurdity,
but am secretly struck in the heart and my wisdom
plucked away.
Someone ties a blindfold around my optimism.
This is the world, can you see better
now?
No. I'm scared.
What have my friends made of me,
made of themselves?
What are we doing with these tools of turning wheels
and glass pipes which illuminate in the hovering moonlight
cast from above,
casting shadows on our faces,
as we forget friendship and love drugs?
Only drugs.
No I can't come out tonight
because I want to sleep well.
I don't want the twitches and the paranoid itches.
I don't want the voices and suffocating choices
and that feeling of feeling too much and feeling too well.

Winter's harsh weather has taken over,
but the coffee house stands strong.
Watching people and watching laughter
my worries have left me
tired and peaceful.

People blow through doors
and out of windows
sweeping mugs from wooden surfaces.
Liquids
swirl in the air.
Words and things worse become
empty.
I am here, I am there, I am everywhere.
The coffee house stands strong.

Between anticipations of me and you
talking over coffee
talking about books,
I slip past these daydreams
to an unreality where misfortune is forgotten - You
are the one I want
So why can't I have you?

Why the hell not?
I question as I keenly brush off
insecurities which dampen my infatuation.
I miss you. I am afraid. I hardly know you.

I am here, I am there, I am everywhere.

The coffee house stands strong.

Look at the moon, she said.
Look at the moon, look at the moon.
The way it pastes itself onto that blanket of black
And stares with the whites of its eyes.

One big eye, bulging above,
Scrutinizing our species,
Asking me questions about Love
And other things I claim to understand.

Leave me alone, won't you?
Oh big, bulging moon of persistent
gazing insolence.

Does it speak?
Does it say: Look at the human,
Look at the tiny, tiny human.
Why does it stare at me
with those speculating specks of eyes?

I am dust, you are dust.
We are all dust, floating together.
Look at the moon or look at the human,
It is all the same.

I dreamed of an old friend last night
who tied ribbons round my life
years ago and told me I was beautiful
when no one else would

She was the problem and answer
to all my pain and sorrow
and I miss her smile
and her selfish ways

How strange it is that
we lose people we love,
for what reason?

What reason is good enough
when life is so short
and hands us so few people
who bring candles to the dark
in our lives

future is vast expanse of confusing
unknown romanticised nonsense

past is like the dead
we still feel it but it's not there
it fades with clown-like indecency
mocking our misfortune at it turns
and waves goodbye

present is spent in other realms
except the rare flicker
where mind and body reunite
like old friends long missed

intangible, consistent, inconsistent
nonsense is the cruel ticking of time

there is nothing we can hold
in a moment and own
It all escapes us
like helium baloons tugging
from the tiny sticky hands of
small children
floating into the blue sky
never seen again as every moon
and sunrise
although we forget

'Tis a lonely world

Where sparkling stars
of night sky wonders
which once were friends
have disappeared

Where is the warmth of the night?
The glow of vague light
which once was comfort?

When did this feeling arrive?
The habit of need?

'Tis weakness
What can we say
of human satisfaction
but what we've learned?

'Tis a lonely feeling
to be one in the dimension
of a million
When the sun rises
and to be alone.