Friday, 15 June 2018

This One Sucks

Your soft pink lips. The corner of your eyelid tips. Where the soul inside your meatbag sits. Where the air and light and colour slips. My gaze sucks on like little thrips, desperately thirsty for their weekly hit. Instead they get that petrol spritz, and fall down dead like fattened ticks.

I Saw You Crying In Your Factory Ripped Jeans, I Wonder If You Have Been Keeping Up With Your Vaccines

Everything repeats itself and gets faster, like you're endlessly playing Galaga? Who wrote this ridiculous palaver? I would cut him up and turn his skin into a parka. The world is full of ridiculously terrible written shit, what on earth is he doing further fouling it with this. I'd rather read tea leaves steeped in elephant piss, than anything on this stupid looking website of his. I'd rather go to my grave never having known the pain, of reading the terrible drivel dreamt up by such a stupid brain.

Life In This Hell, Where Everybody Is Or Isn't Going Swell

I'm sorry, but I can't visit you anymore, your husband looks as if he's at death's door, my eyes find his face and then immediately drift away to trawl the floor. I don't know what to do, I'd really love to see you, but mortality and slow decay is more than I can handle. I think that I will have to take your picture down from up upon my mantle.

I love you but to your memories you no longer hold a candle.

Monday, 11 June 2018


I'm sleeping in a puddle of piss, and all I can think about is this: that life's least pleasurable things are for what we wish, while life's most pleasurable moments are what we miss.

Goodbye Never

I used to have so many ideas, I used to have words for years. The amount of words I could write based on the most stupid of my fears - on the slightest hint of the smallest prickling of my tears. Now the only fear I have is that I've wasted all my words. Inspired once, now nothing no one's never heard.

And here I am still tapping my heart away, with nothing left to write and even less now left to say.

Kodak Momentum

When I look into my children's faces, I cant help but feel like I'm living in the past. Each moment of my life feels like it's rushing by so fast. I'm where my father was, and to me his life went by in such a flash, this moment will so soon be just another tattered photograph.

Sunday, 3 June 2018

Like A Kick To The Groyne

What was it like to strike? To take my head and put it on the pike. To cross my heart then stick it with a spike. You used my love like a finger propping up your dyke - holding back your flood of feelings as a stop gap between being liked.

And then like a Chinese peasant building that great wall, I was interred after falling from your thrall.