ideas trickle from my subconscious
with nothing to catch them
but a fountain pen
and notebook lined paper

they pool into an existence
like a small tide over which
I have no dominion whatsoever
spreading across the page

small seas of myself
without a moon to control them
slosh about until they somehow
make sense of each thought wave

then they begin their ebb and flow
haunting me with their sound
as they crash on an empty shore
where I'm a castaway of my words

the cracks in the mirror
start to show
makeup morning
                              clown
becomes the show
unrecognisable face
made up to be
someone you know
still laughing
just not sure at what anymore

satisfaction of pain
too many
glass walls

there are days
when even your own phone
doesn't recognise you

stranger face

it's when you find out
who your real friends are

the ones who make an effort
to talk to you

I love the two wheeled demons
they are in my soul waiting
to let fly
all my inhibitions
I have studied them
coveted them
but the courage to be free
defeats me
as I see the smiling face of death
on the first hairpin bend

I set this train a' rolling
down tracks with no stations
knowing a wreck inevitable
of this wild and ridiculous ride
wind in my hair taut expression
flesh stretched across a face
expecting the outcome

a kid
with the throaty sound
of a tuned engine underfoot
cuts through my sleep
deprived eardrums
an almost tuneful exhaust note
rasps under acceleration
rippling night air outside
God I wish I was young again
when that sound alone
under my command
made me feel alive