In the erie irony
of a cold, cold world
run by indifference itself
those who care the most
mopping after weak dripping toast
get burned by the absence
of a flame in their room
or a dog to lick their own sores
seek to keep fevers down
under down, under down, under down

Heaven is plain my choc biscuit
deceived me again with its *******
but it’s never enough
this addiction is tough
come away with me now and we’ll risk it

Autumn leaves chased after
One another
Spinning pirouettes like
Children at play
Rustling in gentle laughter.
I stifled a cry
To call them aside
Stand clear from harm's way
"Rest with me amid
Short grass and mud"
I thought I should say
Then, these days,
Their days,
Have number, too
So I stood quietly by,
Lived their joy
As they hopped and flew
'Till speeder's wake,
A blind, uncaring rake,
Swept them all away

i knew a girl who wore scars like medals.
she woud tell me awful stories about
awful things that happened in her awful life...

She always told them with a wide joker's grin.
Her waxy lipstick red lips stretching and curving
into a smile that held hate and tears and years
of not so funny laughter.

Sometimes she told me stories,
like all that hurt,
all that shame,
all those horribul
horribul things...were such a
laugh.

how vain i have become.
all day i worry,
i wonder who is reading now?
i wonder what they have said about me?

i used to scribble down poems
in a tiny leather bound book.
i alone knew of the moments they painted.

and now
and now and now

the whole world can stumble upon
my name
my words
my secret thoughts and feelings

how vain i have become,
waiting with baited breath
for someone to tell me if they approve
or not.

i miss my little leather bound book.