old habits die hard.
don't they?

but do i even have to ask you,
you'd know.

Today, on the heath, I walked
out of my habits

I looked back and saw anger and
powerlessness hiding behind them

A fear that I couldn't recognise
looked away, feelings

stirred within me
They pounded for help

Please, do not return
to your habits

Habits will straighten

the learning spiral until --


it no longer springs.

Just trying to roll with the tide
Catching waves to the shore
Sandy beaches made for love
Every grain wanting more

When life is in a hurry
You need to learn to chill
Maybe take a drink or smoke
Get some kind of high-naked thrill

Life is good, you just don’t know it
Study up on what you’ve really got
Practice what your soul will breach
Talk about the righteous, those that have not

Karma and comeuppance, they like to dance
It’s all over when you lose your life
Give up your heartbeat and it’s dreams
Life and death is a sharp razor knife

my nose runs
Not cause I’m sick
It happens everyday
Because I pick

Dig my nails
Deep in my face
Leaving ****** holes
Looking a disgrace

my nose runs
Not cause I’m sick
It happens everyday
Because I light the wick

Pull some smoke
Leaves grown from hell
I’m an adult now
Who will you tell?

a clay coloured mug
with the dregs
of now-cold coffee
swirling with bits
accumulated dust
and a fallen fly
left on the side
it needs to be washed
but will be ignored
time and again
each time i pass by
because of how
it is stained;
not by the rings
lining it's inner surface
from top to bottom
with striations of brown
but because of
the lipstick smudge
on its outer edge
a sign of her presence
of all the memories
that a smear of red
can conjure
and a reminder
that she will
be home soon

It's such a cold feeling
Turning around to show you something
Excited to make you smile, to share with you
Only to remember, embarrassingly so
That I still have that bad habit
Of turning towards someone who isn't there anymore

I stabbed myself in the face today.
Not literally.
With a bouquet of flowers.
I like to smell them. It was nice.
Pumped my self with drugs.
Sugars and oils and processed blood.
I'm pretty sure it effects my functioning.
Too much and you can't move.
And when I lie there, I see the roof.
It's blank. No one looks at it because it's blank.
It's blank because no one looks at it.
And I stare at that roof and of course, it stares into me.
We connect, we understand.
And I load up the laptop and sit there for days.

Oh well. Who am I harming?