Wednesday, 29 July 2015

It's Not Just For Cheese

Everything becomes so boring. Recurring constantly, until life's little nothings suddenly become interesting. Staples of life, like the taste of foods, how many bathrooms a house has, the quality of your exercise regime - become a fascination. You fixate on them and live your life around these dubious pleasures. Even a child hanging its head over the chain link fence surrounding its housing commission bungalow, whilst it forlornly watches the cars go past, can't see the worth in any of it. Life's real pleasures are a temperate day, a kite and some string.

Sunday, 26 July 2015

Walk Home James

I peel the street light back and the clouds above light up as if reflecting bursts of flak. The shapes shift into things I've seen. And all the things that I can't ever unsee, are looking back at me with dead eyes and murdered smiles. They beg and whisper me to stay a while, to stay a child and drift amongst them through the wilds. The crooked trees are dead now. They're black on brown against the backdrop of the dusky pre-dawn sky. Like the eyebrow of a black man, stretching out above his eye. Her name was Jasmine, or Jaz, or Jess. She wore her make-up like a whore. I walk on and on, until my legs are sore.

Thursday, 23 July 2015

A Forgotten Sunrise

I cut my teeth on you. I'd run around until my heart fell out, motivated by a mixture of lust and confusion. I took what I wanted, convinced I was caring. I cared for myself and thought jealousy was when I cared about you.

I cared little, often. I care less, still.

Tuesday, 21 July 2015

NO COMMENTS

I asked myself if I had anything else and then I decided I didn't. I'd poured it all out until I was empty, on people who didn't care. With shiny eyes I'd read about their lives unfolding whilst I was enfolding my own in upon itself. Encasing myself in my own little inconsequential bump in history. An ant, crushed into the page by a pencil dragging a line between matters of more significance. I wanted nothing more than for everything to end for everybody. All at once...

...And yet life goes on and on and on, and every single song is the same fucking song.

Sunday, 12 July 2015

Alois' Baby

We touched and the touch fell through to the back of my mind, where the memories, like sand, slip down through the crevasses of time. Lately the sand pours quickly and I forget. I forget all that I've loved, longed for and all of my regrets. I become blank, and I wonder bewilderedly what or who I am. I've become the walking damned. I'm sure... I'm sure I was a good man... Jesus? God? I try but I am scared. Lord, I just don't understand.

Sunday, 5 July 2015

The Waves Still Crash At Eastbourne, But the Shore Has Lost It's Tongue

The road stretches out and all around. The past is now, and the future is faded and turning brown. I've done it all before and I'm doing it all again. I stood here once when I was turning ten, and excitedly pressed the binocular lens up against my eyes, and then...then I was thirty-four years old. I was snugged up against the cold, and I had my fingers tucked away into my jacket folds. I'd become immune to life's pleasures somewhere along the line, yet another side affect of the marching of time. Yet standing here I was more aware of how numb I'd become, a ponderous numbness and my throat was left dumb. She asked again: "what are we doing here?" and I turned and I walked away from the charred remains of Eastbourne pier.

Jounce upon a time

We wander to the waters edge and you tell me everything will be fine. You lay me down and we drift away to the four corners of my mind. If I could tell anyone anything about you I would tell them nothing, I'd keep you to myself forever, and hide ourselves away. We could be each other's sustenance.

Lemon Queasy

Everything is intolerable, everything is horrible, sleep deprived and out of your mind, with a dreadful sinking feeling sickening you from within the inside. The only path I'm on is the psychopath, the only tick of approval I get is the spastick tick of my eyelid as I stare at the mould creeping on my ceiling. She said that I was unappealing.