it had to be ants.



the town turned out,

a pound a time,

to see the model railway

of dolgellau.



amazing as it was,

as you know i do like tiny things,

expecially trains.



more astonishing was the conversation,

face close, on ants that bit up his legs

at bingo, formic acid and calamine

explained in detail.



thre train went by, with tiny noise,

as he rolled up his trouser leg to show me.



the explaination as detailed

as the dioramal, on and on and on.



a nice man.   my daughter saved me.







twice.



it was a good turnout, an excellent,

award winning model railway.

sbm.

I am a lost puppy
Searching for a forever home
Only to find abusive owners

I am my own disease
It's always been that way
My happiness depends on others

To be loved
To love
Is the only way
I could ever really smile

I have this incessant need
To be someone's

To be held by a man
With a glimmer in his eyes

To feel beautiful

No matter how long I am alone
Whether a day or a year

The loneliness sinks in and eats at me

Without someone to be mine I sit and wallow
The racing thoughts increasing by day
The urge for a blade
The pain
The desire to give up
To give in

I lose hope when I am alone
Hope for a future

I don't know what to do anymore
I don't know how to fight this

I just wish I knew how to be happy
Without needing someone else

But that will never be me

Never.

Three.
One that warned me,
One that didn't,
And one that sat, plotting near my heart.

For which it earned it's title;
"Voldemort"
From the girls
Who sat,
An hour after I did on that wrinkled leather corner of the couch,
With tissues, chocolate and their arms
Ready to launch around my tear soaked bandage,
And thought of names
Closer to pets than unwanted clumps of cells was the second;
"Fluffy".

On the 16th and the 5th, I think of and thank

Sophie, who ran cold water over my veins backstage
When I couldn't stand the heat any longer
Because my own chemicals wanted to give up.

Rachel, who glanced over at me in English,
When I looked hopeless
And hugged me, without a word of explaination.

And the first, "Fredrick", who gave me this mark I wear,
Uncaring of it's appearance because it warned us
And prevented the formation of more scars.

And how when I say I love them I mean it.

Three.
One that made me laugh,
One that bravely smiled,
One that got sick
And made the other two cry.

Take a seat settle down into relaxation
Listen to the speakers pound with this vibration
Let the music lift you up like some levitation
On to a level higher then the man that's your destination
Now listen to me man, this one explaination
Why no one can live up to the expectation
Of a tyrant's trials and tribulations
How can we all congrugate to be one nation
If were all lead by a mental patient
Who slaughters other countries out of desperation
Doesn't matter if you're one man or the head of a corporation
They make the truth and you're forced to face it
So the middle class has so much frustration
'Cause we're all living in oppression with no compansation
They keep us blind in hopes for a revelation
You think you're free cause you can choose your radio station
Tell me why you're plagued by the thoughts and the temptation
Of a beautiful paradise called life's vacation
No hate, no drama this is our salvation
We're all different but we make the perfect combination
We must all join forces into one vocation
If we hope to turn this dream into our creation

I didnt want to talk about it.

it hung there in its ominous entirety devoid of explaination

the sickening welt in my gut peircing the truth into realisation

it is something that could not be unseen, unheard.

as you finally grasped its magnitude gaping wide open incredulously at the shape of it

I looked away.

I blame you.

but I never said a word.

here is what i believe the difference between loving something and being in love with something is:

using today's loose connotation, loving something is inconsistent. you can love objects, colors, people, sounds, etc. overall, considered an "easy" emotion. loving something is more platonic than being in love with something.
being in love is, more or less, a long lived infatuation. if you love something, the feeling is touch and go, and may not last forever. when you are in love, there will always be a trace of admiration that lingers for you to cherish. you cannot be in love with someone if you do not love them first. however, it is easy to love something without being in love.

a clear understanding on loving versus being in love is nearly impossible, and will often oscillate between who you are asking and what you are loving

loving you was easy
but **** it, i was never in love.

call the cops.
they cooking rocks
in a shanty town compound
its just how they get down
most denounceable settlement
heroine needles nettle men
shredded by early elements
surely only pure irrelevents
no evidence of life
that reflected
anything intelligent
they were like
hell with it;
preferred not
to confer the
elephant in the parlor
though of pachyderm stature
he still delicate & he starvin.

attention ya'll.
there's histrionic
insect larva writhing
inside dying bodies
of constants.
wanting nothing but to be alive
to watch the sky ***** lights
contrite with wasting time & space
decided to face what made the comets
atum & adam & atoms.
dizzy sassed her,
kiss me ***
slapper
pass the days faster
calmly
this was a disaster
it sounds so wrong
but
how else
do you say it.

it seems
there is no
safe explaination
that demons &
godless heathens
still hold faith in unseen reason
aurical feelings
bottomless meanings &
improbable teachings
exploring the being
& being anything
more than whimsy

i still dont know
why i pushed people away
and im sorry
its no explaination
but ****
                      i miss you
i miss talking
im on medication now
eating disorder in tow
self harm addiction
2 weeks clean
                                       yet finally
                                       im proud
                            im still alive

I was never yours,
Or so you said,

You always held me,
But at an arms length,

You took me to my favourite place,
But let me be nothing more than a stranger,

You were always there for me,
Physically yes, deaf ear and all,

You laughed at my jokes,
But counted down minutes for it to end,

A threat of abdoning,here and there
After all i was never yours right?

I understand, it was my fault,
Ofcourse it was,

I existed,
the perfect explaination of all.

To make someone smile while reading what you write is always an achievement to me. I love to play with words and to be able to write and let the readers relate to it and learn from it is satisfying.

But, why does it not work in real life when talking?

I have 99 problems and having to be stuck in my thoughts and letting people down because I could not help them with their problems just made me guilty.

Am I not a good friend because of this?

I tried, but I can't.

Because most of the time, I have not been tested. I have not taste the taste of defeat, the taste of depression, the taste of feeling like your soul want to break free from the confine place and the taste of not knowing what to feel.

I have not felt how it is like to just sit and you do not know what to feel. You want to scream and break alk thing and cry and just release everything out but it just would not escape and you end up hurting yourself.

I have not felt how it is like to run away from an explaination.

I feel like I am not loved for not being tested with all these challenges.

I want to be able to relate those pain, and help them with my words but all I do is lend a shoulder to cry, a hug to be shared because that is all I could offer.