Sick

I found a note
in the mangled pages of my confessional
it read,
"less we forget the doom
and the plague
of all those spoiled lovers"
yet
when I look at you
all I know
is if I don'thave you
I'll feel sick
for the rest of my life

The Sun

Long shadows creep towards the light
as young children play games of hop skotch
their gleeful cries of folly
echo down endless corridors of uncertainty
It changes things the sun
It makes things appear happier
It makes them look new

Joint

Smoking a joint on the balcony of my flat
a hollow feeling sits inside of me
the feeling is like hunger
and defines itself with a raw ache

I watch as the night steals
the colours of the day
and the sky becomes disheartened

There were fireworks tonight
You missed them

Crying Girl

You weep late at night
on street corners
for failed politicians and
all of their deformed children
striking stubborn matchsticks
on wood damp from your tears
as taxi's roll by
and faces look at you
but don't appreciate
the joy removed
causing such a cinematic scene.

Rain

When it rains
cities fall from the sky
and break weak branches
from the old trees
that are dying before our very eyes
as romantic poets glance towards the stars
and seek sanctuary
from promiscuous nights of debauchery
and the wine soaked hours of insomnia
crying tears for the hundred lives they will never lead

Choir

I open myself up to a symphony of voices
all travelling in a line
as I drag my feet behind them
They become aware of my presence
and their voices become enraged with me
it appears the songs they sing are secret songs
that aren't meant for the likes of me

Clocks

Each clock in the house tells a different time
and there are many clocks
spread about the place.

Some are an hour ahead
Some are an hour behind
the clock that tells the truth.

One of the clocks is trapped
two hours in the past
and see's where I was before.

Another has skipped ahead into the night
but I can still see light outside
and take comfort in this.

Behind the Bar

Your name is Katy
which gives you a certain air of accesibility
even though you are, by far,
the most beautiful woman I have ever seen
I like the way you pour drinks
and the delicare manner in which
you fold cutlery in a napkin
and when you disperse candles
to fire up the darkness of the pubs nooks and crannys.
I have developed my own suspicions about you,
that you may have the ability to galvanise an army,
my own personal Helen of Troy
if only I could talk to you
but I always know when you're around
because the lights shine brighter on John Bright street
and sometimes you eve smile at me

Wave

Stood outside a greasy cafe
the smell of sickly food fills my nostrils
skint, unable to eat
I smoke another rolled up cigarette
gazing into the gaps between moving cars.
A silver BMW fills my vision
and a young black girl smiles at me from the back seat
her innocence amazes me
as she waves a pale palm in my direction
not knowing the hurt I have caused
or the dark alleyways I have stumbled down
so I smile back at her and wave
with my dirty nicotine fingers
until the beamer fills my world with dust
and she is gone

The Changeling

I want to dance where the children played,
barefoot with innocence
I hear I was a happy child
before love, loss, everything since
I remember that boy, he wore a smile
and his fingers were covered in pastel and chalk
Now I am something else entirely
I am the changeling that can no longer change
In sleep and dream I see the potential to be better
It is these dreams that haunt me
and stretch out the waking hours of my infinite sadness
to the longest hangover I have ever known.

Walking to the shop for Rizla

Walking streets in noir tinged skies,
the flaps of my dearstalker blowing in the wind
Streets so cold and quiet
Silent
When silence is the voice of a discontent soul
manifesting itself in profanity and petual violence,
beermats and brimming ashtrays,
the lonely places where no words are forthcoming.
I think I hear music in the sound of running water
but I am mistaken, there is just silence
and the sound of my own footsteps carrying me home

Cannibal Love

We bask in splendid indifference
there is nothing that shocks us now
Our insides laid bare across the kitchen table
Such a wonderful feast
I ate you up
You put me in your mouth
Would you fuck me if I was dead?
Always, always
In the naivety of my denial
the kings and queens of old look down on us
mocking me praising thee
but in our nudity we are strangely refreshed
two throbbing bodies under a fabricated moonlight

Bubble

Here in the confines of a bubble
I make shapes with my hands
for the amusement of a small child
who laughs at me
and traces the outline of my prison
with the index finger of his right hand
He is the heir apparent,
Oh how I pity him,
I have to
He is the youngest version of myself I have ever seen