LIVING WITH YOU IS HARD

Living with you is hard.
Every day you’re there.
I talk to you, I feed you.
I try to look after you.
I bully you, I hurt you.
I feel good yet so wrong.
A twisted sense of well being
from a moment of harm.
We have great days.
Days that feel like the sun
is always going to shine.
Days where a warm breeze
whistles on your face
through the lips of an angel.
We have bad days.
Days where the bright glare of dawn
pushes through my coat of sins,
where fires from a burning forest
sits under your skin.
All I can do is separate myself.
Distract myself.
Soak myself in poison,
drain away my thoughts.
Sleep in hours of dreams
that never appear.
One way, Or another,
we will love each other.

21st March 2018

LAYING IN THE GRASS

Watching the grass move in the breeze,
feeling the sunshine is good as long as it’s warm.
She doesn’t care,
she sits in her rocking chair and fills her head with nothing cold,
just the warmth of the sun.

How does the life of someone you don’t know change a thought?

The chair becomes empty for the first time today.
She walks into the grass and falls to her knees, filling her head with the warmth of the sun.
Exploded from a gun.

9th January 2003

A FLEETING MOMENT

I am going to leave you now.
If I see you again I will breeze past you,
like a gust of wind through your open window during a stormy night.
You’ll notice, but not recognise me, then I’ll be gone.
A glance back over my shoulder sees you walking away,
like raindrops running off an your open umbrella, I’m slipping from your memory.
This person you once met, and loved for a passing moment.
Within a tangled web of entwined lives,
belonging to strangers who once met in the same way.

1st October 2001

THINGS ARE HARD TO DO

It’s like a jumper trapped inside a closed suitcase. A band begrudgingly playing their most wanted song to the crowd who want it. Two film canisters which hold the beginning sequence to a lifeless film, which you want to see again and again.

Emotionally disturbed. It’s the little things in life I desire the most, but can’t touch. Or keep hold of. You may want the life of someone else, but it’s not yours to have. Why do you want it? Do you deserve it? If you sit and wait, the scenery won’t change. As I drink myself to sleep, a trolley goes past carrying my life in a cheap plastic bag that I can’t identify.

Please let me know if I hear the fridge buzz, so I can change and not go off with the mushroom, suffocating in a damp plastic bag. It’s a process like painting, you don’t know which line will be the last. You don’t know when you are going to fall asleep, you just wake up. If I could see your dying flame I would keep it in a jar, to light the ladies cigarette when she asks for the favour. But then the dying flame always dies, so she will never know.

4 hours between 13th and 14th November 2000

BROKEN

Nothing works anymore.
The kettle is broken.
That doesn’t matter though,
my mug’s got no handle.
A burnt finger doesn’t heal well,
if you don’t cover it with a plaster.
No I haven’t, the box is empty.

I think it’s fallen apart.
I haven’t seen her for two months.
I do see her though,
in this letter she wrote before she left.
She wrote it in blue crayon.
The red biro ran out on us the day before,
it must have seen it coming.
She’s still there, all she says is ‘bye’.
Each time chipping away at the picture on the wall.

There’s not much time left now.
I’ll make some tea.
But my mug is broken.
I can’t do it.
Nothing works any more.

27th May 2000

YOUR BLANKET

Nothing is there.

A blanket of cloud over an evening sky,
you have no control to relieve this eternal pillow, single in tone.

Imaginary friend, I once believed you were there.
I once believed you could, and would help.
I once believed you were powerful.
Grown ups are locked away for talking to imaginary friends.

But not when it’s you. They can talk to you.

You’re a toe-rag.

A blanket of security.
I knew someone who could hide safely from anything under his blanket.
People make themselves feel better by believing you can help them when really you can’t.

Nothing can.
Everyone’s alone in this world.
Nothing can help you.

30th September 1999

MY SURREAL WORLD

I see it sometimes, in my life, the places I’d visit again.
If I could find the time.
I’ve been there before, I was young,
we rolled in the grass so high on hills.
The colours was blue, the colours were green.
Pale in existence, drowned by the relentless tide of the sun.
The simplistic land was seen here for miles,
no change had happened, so I didn’t want to move on.
Buildings were there, only two.
Blocks of white, grey, childish in construction but along with the land they were together.

We were there together,
I left to believe I’d return, I haven’t…
But I will, to see the grass again.
To see the blocks, simple in design.
My surreal, real world, I beckon out from within, to see again.

21st August 1998

WHILE THINKING OF YOU

Inquisitively, I watched her self-conscious movements.
She was oblivious to my longing gaze as I watched her touch herself,
in ways only I could dream of in my sleep.
Voyeurism had become disturbed as her compelling eyes fell upon mine.
Her stare alone, cradled in a cascade of blonde hair seemed to deny me chance to look away.
Oblivious to the confusion within,
a devine moment liberated me to reminisce with her,
of how only moments earlier,
I fell in love with the tender of my heart.

6th March 1998

FROM A DISTANCE

As I take heed of your love,
I cradle my desire.
My hope is for you,
you’re the one I admire.
I listen to you always,
so silently kind.
I hear you in the shadows,
forever in my mind.

If I could be with you now, I would ask you to stay,
with me in my life, but I can’t find the way.

7th January 1997

NO CONFIDENCE

Sleep Silent.

Sleep Still.

Dreaming a bad dream.

Colours, more confusing than if your mind were conscious and spinning deliriously in happiness of an era gone by. Faces you create, laugh and point unnervingly in your direction. I can wake you with the softest touch. Should you wake, and face that what could be worse than the creation of thoughts deep inside is up to you. Was that real? Or was the bang on the door just more distorted onlookers entering the colourful gathering in thought?

You walk to the door, saving yourself from judgement until you dream again. It opens. At first glance you watch distorting faces laugh and point aggressively towards the dreamer, so silent and still. Colours swim around you, confusing you. Within moments you succumb to the gathering, aiding the pointing and laughing at the dreamer who made them all. Overwhelming paranoia pulls up and shrouds your body seeping in through the pores of your skin. You look around, everyone is laughing at the dreamer still, even yourself. You then realise who the dreamer is.

5th December 1996

MADMAN

In every town there’s a twisted mind. Stumbling down a nearby street, tangled in thoughts of cheap hysteria.
You hope not to meet this as you walk through the increasing darkness,
which not too long ago, moved in on the fleeing light, so passive in comparison.
From out of the darkness, a silouette appears all twisted and tangled, guiding itself towards you.
Cross the street and don’t think about the other side,
but the wiff of anxiety ripens intent.
It follows you. It won’t let you sleep.
Not until it’s released it’s tangled turmoil upon you.

Now to sleep, as the mind carries on, releaved of a little of it’s malady,
it leaves you there, bringing no warmth to the shadows.

8th October 1996

DREAM DICE

It’s happening again.
This time it’s worse.
I know what is going on, also what happens next.
Black on white.
The darkness makes the gloves stand out as if in a sombre puppet show.
Ghostly.
I see the dice.

A voice,

“I roll the dice. Double one, you die.”

I like to think my chances are good, but I’ve been here before.
Yet the fear is leveled with the first.
The gloves slowly pick up the dice and shake them.
I can predict the outcome, but wish for something different.
The dice are rolled.
Almost instantly they stop.

It’s happened again.

The voice,

“Double one. You must die.”

12th July 1996

DREAM WITH ME

Come fly with me through the starlit sky,
our passage in the dark will soon pass by.
Sleep tonight, let our minds be as one,
The density of confusion will warm in the sun.

Stay with me in the fire’s warm glow,
swimming in thoughts, they forever flow.
In the medley of colours the demons appear,
in unison as one, we disclose no fear.

If the river runs true, I’ll wait for you.
Until the end, I’ll stay your friend.

25th June 1996

AN INSECURE MENTALITY AT WORK

come over here old man asleep girl your interest in him will soon change to the cookie bag full with whats on your mind ive got to last I said but then who knows what is behind the next corner or bend blue white sometimes red or orange it all changes the sky for example like I just said but what is it all about really jelly baby cup given to me in a different way to the rolo way ouch that hurt are you reading this or are you listening what thoughts are you having pictures in your brain a cats eye needle piercing to get to the splinter of thought the tree outside is green and will soon change or will it change the everlasting green might stay until it dies and the brown falls upon it poor thing a good hot bath is what they need hot enough to boil every drop of blood which runs trapped in the prison of your body like I dont know im hardly lost for words am I still alive ive got to move jimi along to the next wait have you heard about my baby yeah yeah yeah stop incoming stop if I knew my way in life it would be easy but then boring still I wasnt talking about that was I blood was on my mind blood which can only run free if it escapes yet it can only escape if it is helped and it can only be helped by others living or not living which it would be is beyond my control but once it is set free it only knows one movement to flow forever but it is then very vulnerable diseases attack pollute the minds of everyone and opinions are formed societies struggle to regain some sort of order but it isnt our fault if we were born with not mouth nor eyes or ears we would be none hearing seeing or arguing our points wars would be none at all stop this mindless philosophy why well its cool man cool as a cat with flares and a sunshine raining hat floppy as a body without a bone hahahaha I dont think so we try to live in the past different lifestyles but we dont know what it was like only the wise from the time can tell give me a bell old man tell me about when you drove a car to the end of time and then tried to come back again but fell asleep the girl stared inquisitively remember me she said well do you probably not hello mr yellow man spring for a body but i cant talk to him he makes me dizzy you know happy happy chappy very happy he is big smile so there you have his life he sits thereon his own with his big white bmw number 31 it is you lived and died jim same as everyone else but everyone wasnt the same as you no one is the same as anyone anymore best wishes kev but you said that to me probably said that to a lot of people who come and go i knew them all once they were part of my life then some stay though like buddies forever your bestest thats something special isnt it the weather is special but it doesnt have a big effect on us does it mood changes spooky days like winter afternoons makes us change everything is about to change thing thing thing such a versatile word ill use it forever ok sound this sound imagination this is imagination inspiration it could be inspiration for you as well maybe but who knows you could tell me if it inspires you please ive got one big world of an imagination some say it could be because of voodoo or cottage cheese some of you will know what I mean I put it down to life and the way you live it like an ant world it would be great to be that small in another world but still in this one listen to this mini man youre small please dont take offence mini man is an ant man ok shut up im not going to make it you know well not to the end of time times ended now but only while han and luke take over a if a pear is a pear then what is that over there on the floor oh its a black box with rounded corners floating in a blue swirling sea of emptiness not liquid no its a reflection so its dry dry dry but still floating its pretty heavy here grab this and help me lift it out so it doesnt disappear thanks interaction go hendrix sorry he plays damn fine instrumentals 2-4 3-4 4-4 4-5 ive won the cup its mine I wish dreams never came true if they did people wouldnt have anything to live for but today right here right now it just might

6th June 1996

THIS WAS OUR YESTERDAY

I can see the hills of diseased debris.
It’s quiet out there, guarded overhead by the foul stench that was ours yesterday.
I take a breath, it’s in my lungs, hidden by the maze of suppressed damp alleys deep inside.
You’ve closed your eyes, you’ve turned your backs.
The city of vermin and scavengers writhing in their riches are behind you now,
but never far enough away for peace of mind.
Pushed around by the dirty creatures.
We think we’re in control.
As it decays into the air, we all take it in.
Can you taste the bitterness?
Can you taste the filth?
Our lungs are scum. We know it. They know it.
Soon we, as a decreasing population will sucombe to ourselves,
and without knowing it, we’ve won,

and lost.

7th April 1996

THE OLD GET WISE

Come down and see us sometime.
We’ll always be here,
lying still.
Still as the morning air, breathed by no gasp before you, as you were the first to wake.
How is it we know nothing of ourselves until we grow old?
Old are the wise. the young, fresh and untamed.
We could not remember our birth as we did not know how to.
We all join each other, united as one flowing river of souls to be remembered.
For we remember the last duty we do as if it were happening again.
Dying, is for the wise.
The last need for us to do,
easy to remember.
Not to be forgotten.
We’ll join the river of souls, flowing for eternity.

25th November 1995