John Smallshaw
26 November 2012 at 04:21 · West Ham


Absent friends.
Get me the telephone,
I need the fix in a voice like I once needed methadone
I hate being alone.

Get me the words in a book
Give me a look at these things that are living.
Give me some giving.

Sometimes, late at night when there's nothing around the world's without sound and I sit in the chair
it's like I'm not really there,
like I've moved out in time and I'm in a space that's not mine and these moments go on like the words in a song they run slow through the night where I'm sat in the chair and thinking I might not be here.

Fear is a part of it a big piece of the start of it and Lord knows I'm not brave, I'm not the hero who could confront a dragon and save a maiden from death,
I have to save up to save for my next breath, but that's cool.

I see the face of the coward in the reflections of a fool in a rockpool by the beach and I'm still out of reach as I sit in the chair.

Not here or not there the chair is in nowhere and as I ponder on this,
I think of a kiss that I stole long ago in the old railway shed where the older girl led me and fed me her lips.

I can feel my mind slipping away late at night as I wait for the forthcoming day it's okay.

Sat in my chair I just go with the flow, wherever it is that my mind wants to go..
I go too.