Wednesday, 22 November 2017

Through Your Eyes

You look at me
And you see old
You don't see anyone full of life
That you want to hold
I'm not the dream you and your friends have been sold
To you, my affection and yearning probably just smacks of desperation
And leaves you feeling cold
As far as you're concerned my stories have already all been told
You look at me
And you see regret
You couldn't possibly consider a man my age hasn't yet reached his best
I am not to make memories with, I am to forget.

Open Reflections On The Reoccurring Illness I Have Suffered From And Have Self-Diagnosed To Be Unrequited Love

If you knew the percentage of my mind's activity that you take up, if you could actually watch my dreams and see my thoughts, I dare say this aching, this longing would probably still all be for nought. I know no matter the strength, the depth of my feelings, they alone aren't enough to make me appealing. And in all honesty what would make me appealing? A woman as beautiful as you won't find it hard to catch a man with feelings. And who am I to try and convince you mine carry a little more meaning? You're climbing and I already appear to have hit the ceiling. Pleading ain't got nothing on succeeding. Leaving is so much more endearing than needing.

Monday, 20 November 2017

Saint Peter At The Pearly Gates, Gave Me A VHS And Told Me To Self Evaluate - But I've Only Got a Blu-Ray Player Mate, Guess I'll Just Give Myself An Eight

Be kind, rewind, record over all the shittiest memories that are clogging up your mind. Press slo-mo, take some time, to enjoy the things that make you happy and then fast forward over the grime. Press pause, at sleep time, take all the rest you want, let your mind re-prime. Take a look, see what you find, let all your most treasured memories unfold in real time.


I'm pretty sure I'm the only one alive. I'm pretty sure if everybody else suddenly died, I'd be the only one left who survived. I'm pretty sure if I drove my car into a lake I'd somehow find a way to miraculously escape. I'm pretty sure this is all just make believe - I mean, how could there be a world as miserable to perceive, a species so intrinsically hateful and diseased, and then to lump them together with me? As if I could possibly conceive that I was just growing here on the same trees as ordinary as any of these other slowly dying leaves. Please. No thanks, I will continue to disbelieve. On every one of your whacked out philosophies we will have to disagree.

Thursday, 16 November 2017

I Fell In Love With Your Instagram Bot

I wrote my deepest thoughts and posted it up
You wrote "heyyy nice" with red hearts in triplicate
I wrote thankyou so very much
and you returned a quick thumbs up

I thought my life was really changing, everything suddenly felt amazing, where previously I'd spent most of my life lazing, now I was positively blazing, due to your unprecedented praisings.

I began to feel new things inside - a small lump of undeniable pride, a crush that swelled up like a rising tide, and a joy that my face failed to hide. And then, thereupon I spied, a comment on a friend of mine:

"heyyy nice ❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️"❤️❤️ "

A comment exactly the same, written under your same name, and - oh! - there on another friend again! What on earth is your game? You follow and you unfollow me, I thought you actually liked what you see, but it turns out you're on a follow spree. Did you ever even bother to read, that post that meant so much to me?

Seven thousand five hundred follows on the clock, when will you ever stop? Will you ever turn it off, this mass liking, generic commenting automated bot?

Wednesday, 15 November 2017


I was crushed. Watching you from the kitchen in disgust. Your tyres spun and kicked up a swirl of dust. It lingered in the air like the silence after you first cussed. A last 'up yours' to my broken trust. I grabbed the kettle, hand shaking, noticing the rust. "Stainless steel" I scoff, nonplussed. I remembered my words when our lips first brushed: "take my heart if you must, but always treat me just, don't make me feel rushed, please understand that I am slow to trust." And away you charge, flippantly as I combust.

Holy Mattress Moany

I wonder if despite our constant fights, whether our two bodies find each other in the night. Unconsciously curling and holding each other tight. Making our dreaming minds feel as if everything will be alright.

But then I wake and there we are, at our edges of the mattress, our backs facing each other I reach backwards into blackness. I stretch my hand above the coils and along the fabric, the centre of the bed is cold, the outcome predictably tragic, a no man's land between us that says our love has lost it's magic.