and
What's        Why's?
            
                        The
                 makings
         and
           demise
    
           Of us.

You know how you're supposed to grow?

Well I retreated.

Treated and Re-Treated,

For ailments unknown.

I'd pause as
you'd say Grace,
fork hovering in space
even though I didn't
hold that faith.
Call it gracefull,
and you were grateful,
You were great...
at times
Moody and complex
enough to frustrate...
at times
Changed my mind
on a lot of things,
changed it back again,
enigmatic to the end.
Faith restored and lost
When this Angel was sent.
So I utter this grace
to our beginning
and our end.

Ever feel haunted
by your future?
Cause I do.
Haunted by something
that has no right to a ghost
as it's not been given
LIFE or DEATH yet.

Walked into a school

And taught a lesson to us all;

With one moment in the present

You can ****** the **future

I don't know if it's good to make light of things that upset you.
I don't know if that joke takes away from the pain.
I don't know if that laugh makes me strong or a liar.
All I know is a good sense of humour has got me through time and again.

"You need to step into the real world. You're living a fantasy"


Sorry Ma but that life's not for me.  

                                          So I'll just sit slack

                       And kick back to

My own zone of **reality

Oh dear dance partner in despair*

must you weep now that the song is over?

The little Prince of Persia
Who's purpose is to depurse ya,
Dispersing suits, clock off time city worker,
Mark your card, inertia.
He's no mathematician or  magician
But give him a dynamoment to take you to the cleaners,
cause this one's mean a!
Hellbent on humiliation he'll reverend run you to the station.
He's counting cards, counting on ya till your seeing stars, K.O, ringside seat whilst you get parred, po, poker face he'll drive you gaga!
So Loay and behold he might not be honourable, but he's willing and able to bring the last supper to this table.
He's not called Jack but he's a joker, in guise he tries to choke ya, draw the ace but it won't help ya,
cause you're a disgraced King
and you've just been usurped sir,
by that little Prince of Persia.

So I'll make my 1st guess, my 2nd and my 3rd
And they'll all be wrong or right
But this isn't Rumplestiltskin
Just grim
No fairies or happy endings,
Just tales.

So I'll make my 4th guess, my 5th and my 6th
And they'll all be wrong or right.
But there's no clarity to be had in being cowardly
Just underserved charity
And that case just doesn't suit me.

So I'll make my 7th guess, my 8th and my 9th,
And I might just have had enough to make the call.
So send me down the direct line
The blunt knife may cut deep
But at least it won't chip away at me endlessly like the nth degree, the not knowing...

Conversation becomes my obituary.**

  *Every sentence beckons closer the death of me.

Repeated chorus of a scratched and scathed LP,

stuttered , spluttered end to the symphony.

So put the violins back
they have been worn out.
Let them whisper and no longer shout.
Place bow in case let there be no doubt,
when next I turn my back on this stage
it'll be as I bow out.

Her aspirations were her only inspirations.

So tell me, once they'd
been realised what was she to do?

*What is a dreamer without a dream?

If Home is where the heart is then i am cynically homeless . I have no idea where this heart belongs. It seems that whatever beats in this chest was repossessed long ago. By what or by whom I do not know, but it is gone.

And if home is these streets I grew up in then I'd better set up a cardboard box and start begging. Cause these days I wander familiar paths aimlessly, a dreamer that cannot sleep, wondering where it is I should be; because it is not here.

Taking endless bus journies to escape the monotony, seeking a beginning out of the ends. Knowing this place is the death of me but I'll only ever reach purgatory, cause I always cross over and end up back here.

Sometimes I feel like I'm haunted by this place called home.

And if home is this family, then I'm an orphan surely? This family has forgotten itself. Strangers in silence that hoard emotions on shelves, call it store rage as it simmers in stealth. Daily reminder that I'm just mad at myself cause at this age being so dependent is proving bad for my health.

But maybe I say this all unfairly, cause it's a bad day, so let me re evaluate this place I  call home.

Home is this pen I take with me, the thoughts and feelings it sets free.
Home is the memories.
Home is any place I feel at ease, the people I want to come back to when I leave, the comfort food I eat.
Home is the arms that hold me,  keep me connected when I'm lonely.
Home is that reciprocated intimacy, knowing that when I'm gone you miss me, that smile that only he could give me.
Home is knowing you love me even when i'm angry.
Home is where I can just let it be, those moments of inner peace, the tranquillity.
Home is being care free, laughing uncontrollably making jokes somewhat inappropriately but all in good humour and company.
Home is knowing who I be despite what you see or think of me, singing loudly in public and not self consciously cause fear's been overtaken by curiousity but love mostly.

And maybe I say all this because it's a good day, either way this has got me thinking. Home isn't really a place a person or a thing, it's a feeling. So don't  you see?  I'll always be homeward bound because it begins and ends with me.

I'm just questioning sanity,
hoping that if I walk this path long enough confusion leads to clarity
and that when I reach there finally,
despite countless days in the haze my eyes will be able to see.
That'll I'll be able to lie down in peace without drowning in how you've lied to me.

Cause these days I rest less,
it's why i walk around asleep.
Walking dead, so I'm writing my will free.
Hoping that if I can't trust you again,
I'll at least trust me.

Lately I've been a bit careless,
this stress causing me distress.
Just wish I could care less...

They said he had commitment issues
as he hung from the beam.
Toing and froing
tolling their grief.
Change in his pockets and a crumpled receipt.
Ticket for one, a show never seen.

Pacing around him
the floorboards they squeak.
Flashes and flash backs,
some think him weak.
A life never lived
and a love ever lost.
The ending of his story its ultimate cost.

And they said he had commitment issues,
so he hung from that beam.
Toing and froing,
telling his grief.
One way ticket, discarded seat.
No place for change in his darkened genes.

But you're nothing more than an insomniac, focused entirely on the things you lack. You muse you dream but in the end you slack and you have no one but yourself to thank for that.
The sun beckons but you ignore its calls, deafened by your worries and the doubt that stalls, all you want to do and what you hope to be, the hope that lifts you up momentarily, before the clouds impair your sight and the sun now too close appears to bleed light that has now become too bright
and just like Icarus hope gets burnt and falls back down to the ground where now it crawls.
You try to lift yourself up and stare warily at those around you and try to see,
what it is they possess that you don't have but you are filled with nothing but jealousy.
The sun is not for you is what you decide so the darkness is where you now reside. You wonder if from your mind you will ever be free.
I guess not, cause your mind belongs to me.

And I wonder how do I live a life without expectations when all I have are dreams?My hopes my only salvation or so it seems.

A lot of us aren't fully what we make out to be
but a lot of us are sincerely trying to be and I believe beauty still lies in the forgery if you see it for what it is...