i'm still alive
and it has almost
                       passed a month
            of my living
without you living
           i don't know
how i'm going to be
                                                 will i be asleep
                                                 when the time ticks over?
                                                 will i be dreaming of you?
                               or maybe
                               i'll be awake
helping your kin
the twin you left
               he's struggling too
                           and i worry
for us.

There are far too many things which need to be done, and they are no closer to being done, not one bit. The dishes downstairs lay stacked upon the work surface in the kitchen, crumbs gather on the floor and dust accumulates on the carpet which has not been walked on by a foot other than my own in almost 3 weeks. The windows need cleaning as the sunlight can no longer find its way into the room I currently seek my refuge in, and it is a pitiful thing to have to watch as the sun clambers desperately in an attempt to claw it's way through to me. The notebooks littering my desk are all but half-full, with its paper coffee stained as mugs of rotting liquid gather beside them, one by one. There is a rather distinct stink of mouldering books, as my taste for fine reading has become belittled and seemingly extinct as of these recent days.

There are far too many things which need to be done, such as clambering my way out of this hell-hole and seeking a refuge in something other than the room in which I have imprisoned myself in. There are far too many things which need to be done, in terms of escaping and finding a way to crawl to you, even though you reside in a place which is out of my reach.

we used to play
you used to call
and now we email
back & forth
once in awhile ~
I sign my new name:
love you, Samasati
but I feel the same,
clinging to a pipe dream;
however, aware of the glum analogy that:
other hearts are to me as my heart is to you
and still forgiveness is
an issue.
hypocritical overly heartswelled idiot;
blockhead, nitwit;
I am.
but when you told me
you miss me,
you miss my ******,
you miss my intensity,
all I could muster up was
a hardy laugh.

You walked home
from school
with Sutcliffe
(O’Brien was off

with dysentery
which Eddie thought
was a load of ****)
along the New Kent Road

by the shop from which
you bought
a stamp album
and the silver looking

6 shooter gun
and holster
with the belt
with pretend bullets

all around
in little holders
and Eddie said
his big sister

was beginning to spend
too much time
in the washroom
getting herself

all geared up
for her boyfriend
and that his dad
banged on the door

wanting to get in
for his shave
( she’d used all
the hot water

her mother had boiled
in the copper
for the family bath
that night

and his sister
had bellowed back
I’ve got to look my best
I can’t go out

smelling
like a dead rat
and Eddie laughed
(his buck teeth showing)

and Dad told her
she’d feel his hand
across her backside
if she got  

too mouthy with him
so she shut her noise
and came out
all dolled up you

her hair all piled high
her lipstick bright red
her tight skirt
and Dad said

if you think you’re going out
dressed like that
you can think again
but she did

and that was it
and Mum said to him
she's only young once
but he just shaved

and moaned
and I could hear him
muttering to himself
and so Eddie went on

(O’Brien would have
baited him about his sister
would have riled him bad
but he was away

and Eddie was glad)
and so you got
to the corner
of Deacon Way

where Sutcliffe lived
and so you walked
across the road
to Meadow Row

and he waved
and you watched
his blonde cropped hair
and black uniform

disappear from sight
and walked towards home
hands in pockets
satchel on your back

scuffed shoes
kicking stones
onto the bombsite
home to tea

of bread and jam
then out with Ingrid
on the balcony
looking down

over the ledge
at the people passing
or kids playing
making a din

until her father
called her
with his rough voice
and she went back in.

Hurt people hurt people
It's all that we seem to do.
Sometimes I wonder
Will we ever learn people?
Because there are way too many
Hurt people.

As strong as love is
We say we love people.
Things change and get
rough and tough
Then we abandon people.
Instead of working it out
to become better people.
We get lost in our
Emotions and thoughts
And become bitter people.

We seek out other people
To feel loved again
Hoping for a redo
Something like a sequel
only to realize
When it's over that we've
Become more scared
And tainted people.
And the cycle continues.
Until we can no longer
Trust people

I have no idea why
Hurt people hurt people
The very act is oh so feeble
To love each other equal?
I doubt we ever will
As long as hurt people
hurt people.

Even religious people
can hurt people
they find God's love
and think they can judge people
Like there isn't any evil
Going on inside that cathedral
Like they've forgotten what it's like
To be amongst the struggling people
Yeah, prayer changes and helps but
We are all the same people
sane people
Living in an insane world
Filled with unanswered questions.
Which is probably why
We can't be peaceful.

I will never know why
Hurt people hurt people
The very act is oh so feeble
To love each other equal?
I doubt we ever will
As long as hurt people
hurt people

So as I sit at home alone
And peer out of my peephole
I wonder what has caused
All this evil
That makes these hurt people
hurt people.

We're ladies who lunch, we have a good time
We appreciate art, we sip fine wine
Watching our weight so no more than a nibble
But believe you me - we're fond of a giggle :)

We're ladies who lunch, we thrive on variety
We run the local history society
We move some chairs around in the hall
And invite a nice man to talk to us all

We're ladies who lunch, we support one another
Devouring books from cover to cover
We always discuss the topics we've read
Our husbands are hard at work or dead

We're ladies who lunch, we're busy but free
No one does luncheon better than we
Society's backbone, we stick together
And fully intend to go on for ever

Sleeping on sofas, sleeping on floors
Friends are her family
Her mother abroad

Little miss nobody, pin-ball girl
Says why are you being so nice to me
It's our job says the nurse
As she stitches her hand
Everyone is somebody

You folks are amazing
You really care
Best phone the hostel
Tonight I'll go there

So vulnerable
Naive, street-wise in equal measure
If you had a family
You would be their treasure