Sitting. Thinking. Doing.
Nothing.
Trying. Failing. Faking.
Something.
Smiling. Consuming. Swallowing.
Everything.
Absorbing. Accruing. Attacking.
Anything.
But soon that
All will
Be
Nothing.

Thirties now
You sit
All day
Fast food
Short fuse
Damp mood
Hammed fist
Tired eyes
Pale skin
Cold nights
Just him
Pay goes
On ****
they take
You miss
And now
You sit
Alone.

She was like you -
    Never held before.
        My nervous grip brand new

             Not nearly as scary -
           But beautiful.
         Still, I remain wary

     Exquisite beast -
         You need me.
             For now, at least

       As my eyes close -
    I feel.
Relief.

I never believed in monsters until
I grew up
I didn't flinch or freeze or flee and
I never felt like this

I never had that crushing pain
I have right now
I didn't stare into space whilst
I fussed and faffed

I never thought I'd see this man
I am
I didn't want to consider even what
I would become

I always get like this now though
I host this hated beast
I do hide from the monster now
I gave Him his teeth

A voiced cracked by age
Fingers contorted by time
Joints just the same
But all that is a lie

The drink helps loosen your tongue
As tales untold spill out
How did this go on?
And nothing done about?

"Golden generation" They say
The best of us still now
But what if you were to replay
The whos, the whats, the hows

That knock on your door
A pleasant smile and a nod
Well-meaning you were sure
If - just a little - odd...

It's the fifties though and that's that
You oblige him to come in
Like a gent removes his hat
To reveal a wolfish grin

"Show me upstairs, if you would" he demands
Your eyes look away as you recall
And the scars now show as trembling hands
As you say, "That was all".

It's hard to know what to say at times like this
Report it you should (have) do or done
But shoulds and coulds won't change what is
There are few battles left to be won
So as our talk comes to a close,
I sit, I nod, I think and...

It hurts to lose.
If I could choose;
I'd much rather fail,
In comparison: pale

It's better in sport;
When you fall short,
At least you can say
"It just wasn't my day"

But to wait for so long,
Not knowing right or wrong;
Lets the mind swell
Imagining what went well..

Telling others the tale
Of your great prevail
And accepting the plaud
Like an actor Awards

But it's all ripped away
By words throwaway
An invisible loss.

He didn't know you
Did he?
So why is he crying?
How can he weep?
Why is he here?

Sentiments echoed from decades ago
Now swell with selfish doubt

Back then he was me
A bystander
A passenger
A witness, helpless
Useless.

Not just once in fact, but more
Being that cold shoulder

Unfeeling to the sorrow
These days
The pain
Still raw
Yet numb

And yet, he cries today
Just as he did then

With anguish, remorse
And regret
Uncontrollable, honest
But awful
And coarse

Be strong, for her at least
Be selfless, be there. Now

But the grip takes hold
Seizes throat
Twists gut
Deep down
Crushing

She is so strong to absorb it
Reading each card and balloon

Each beautiful flower reflects
Those who loved
And cared
Who celebrate now
In mourning

He sits. Useless. Impotent. Void.
A cold shadow of 'life'.

The anguish burns and spreads
Into those self-made
Black spaces
Eyes fight
Throat clear

Self-pity consumes the moment
The ifs, the buts, the maybes, the ors

He locks it away now. Again.
All of it....
Most...
Some..
None.

Beneath me, touching toes you lie
I don't count anymore, rather endure the crunch and crinkle of pretty patterns now in-flow.

Twisted white sheets beckoned bedfellows before but,
now we writhe in wit and wonder:
knowing when or when it how.

Atop the distanced hill we stare
fixated, on future duty, care
about it then, so far away. But comfort
that it binds us now.

It's late.
I know.
Yet the clock still ticks
Still lets me twitch
Creates itch and fidget
Craves spark and so...

It's later now.
I see.
But resistant we remain
Conjuring thoughts to sustain
Finding things to blame
Though rest to flee.

It will be time soon.
I think.
Heavy head thoughts bleed
Planting crumbs and seeds
To follow and lead
Darkness now with a blink.

Stood silent and solemn,
Magnificent monsters moulded, made
Ghostly gods of great glory
Tremble through time, still. now

Lying low. Lame and languid
Founding figures fall fast
Crashing to cold concrete, uncaring

Embers echo, every voice
Fights free, for force

Bends. Breaks. Builds. Breathes

Twas' drak'n darb in the 9-boroud sland
Pas' yeaths bore to with dozhalfen morpland
Stwhil ninglund asprak - a flickrin flopp
Lokcs wild untrewd gravaz mirsey strop

Won lords ashored off moor tym of-wight
Whyl bmumblgnig Johnny doze nye their crawe or bytte
yet hear wieR fayssd whit hist fay tof pear
Demmos in crass faw teesh grate cites off gare

Look away. Stay silent. Ignore if you must.
Just remember the li(n)e in people we trust.

Chest up, palms back. Set
Pose. Reset.
Painted amongst clouds -
To prove it.

A summit awaits. We
Tell ourselves whilst fixed
Fast on phones. Hold on,
Set. Pose.

Reset.
Continuing on, through silent
Pain, undistressed. Taking in - like the rest
****, schlock and schtum.

Reaching up. Holding on. Feet slip
Beneath
Loose ground
Heavily worn, trodden down.

Grip failing. Boots torn.
Gripping tighter.
Hanging now.
Reset.

Pose.
Set.
Point. Click. Check.
Reset.

Continue on like before.
Laugh off the failings and forlorn.
Make choices to which them will warm.
Set.  Pose.  Reset. Time and time again.

Back down we go.

A discovery times ago,
Of spells and hats, sticks and stones,
Scorched earth (and flesh) charred black the snow,
As bones were broke for mud thrown.

Civilised though we reclaimed us - just.
Yeast left to bread, until proven at least.
Yet the hands of many pluck stitches to crust.

Today trials echo of the years,
Whence witch blood spilt pure as tears,
Whilst callous crocodiles weep and crow,
With their fifteen in-line to Show.

From high above, we see streets stained;
Streams of modern life smeared lame
And stunted by screens which sneer.

Hovering, seconds we share - engage with
Even - Passive passengers hurtling toward
Destinations shared and (somewhat) known.

Talk turns to it. The state of it. What
It means. Where we are headed. And as I
Speak silently, the mirror mists.

We trudge barn-bound,
                  To find appalling sites
          Of vagrant shrouds.

                     Soon though we stumble,
Among vain citadels
         of stubborn intent;
                          Self-confined to Hells

                Of preservative pride
                                      And tribal tutelage.
All wishing to hide

In plain sight from those
Who threaten impingement
                              On such hallowed ground.
               Suspicion grows.

                     Just right of us, we are unable
     To unsee the scene which unfolds
                                   As monster unveilled,

               Appearing no more or less
Unfeeling or inhumane
As you or I,  turns and
                                    Refuses to entertain

    Even such a concept as to
                          Engage and conform.
           We though know our duty through.

Years of prodded incentives
     And dictated routine. Captive
         We stand and welcome the bolt,
              Simply hoping its passage is clean.

Can  the      tho ugt
Oft  his        bet hat
The  ide       als sit
For  all         toh ear
Yet  sim       ply die

Ise  eit         now how
you  exp    ose and
cry  ing      out  sti
fle  tha       twh ich
cou  ld1     day fly

Ifo  nly      you had
not  bee    ngi ven
suc  hch    anc eto
inf  ect      mym ind

Tra  gic      ast tra
ffi  cfi         lls the
air  bli       ndo pen
you  ree    yes tof
ind  thi      sto bet
Rue.

We traverse the streets; tight
and certain. Bypassing waves of feet
which trudge on, sullen shadows.

You realise first; right
ahead entry looms. Bringing broods of fake
smiles, capturing pornographic self-worth.

I follow behind; sight
obscured by swarming swathes
of those who steal and covet and corrupt.

We gleefully sneer; delight
in beliefs of 'what are they
thinking?' At least just before

They turn our heads; blight
Such preconceived notions of grandeur
And aplomb. Now left to

No-one; empty and contrite.
Cultivated by sycophantic selfies which deface and soil, we duly conform and

All look up; into burning bright
Of skies soon overcast. We urge
It now, to finally get our turn. It's about time.

Set ablaze; past glories,
Conquests. Thick brick walls
Impenetrable sit idly by
Whilst what ifs eviscerate.

A kingdom built on grains and specks.
Once a settlement, now ghastly;
Ravaged by plaguing self-doubt,
Warming, once-virginal moat breached.

Back then, gauntlet raised in
Defiance. Each challenged indiscretion
Offering temporary relief; even
Reputation. To be lauded.

Now my Castle stands,
Pallid, chalk-lined grandstands.
Guiding past, drawbridge downed
Vagrant visitors. My crown.

They stain the walls.
Three black spots relentless
against the white backdrop.
I follow just one. Another dwells,
lingers - as its allie drops from view.
It weaves an invisible labrynth: purposeless.

At face, a simple enough fix.
A swift, unflinching hand
to brush away the blemish.
Yet, legs abstain. Want no part
of what is sure to come.
After all, They might well crawl away.