Thursday, 30 July 2015

I Wish I Could Sing A Different Song

I could never be a writer. I've no eye for detail. I walk through graveyards and all I see is death. I'm oblivious to all the life right above my head. I probably couldn't name the tree sheltering me or the birds serenading me. Education was a waste on me. All it taught me was that pain follows you around every day.

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.

Tuesday, 28 July 2015

Walk Away Dom

Put on your amber shades and your fifteen year old bottle of Calvin Klein aftershave. Who wants to fuck a dreadlocked girl in a caravan anyway? Readers, can you feel our pain? Does it radiate through your screen? Maybe if we put an Instagram filter on it, it would be easier to see. Because reading words, they're such a fucking effort aren't they. Why do we bother, I sometimes ask myself. Then I realise the answer is because no one else does. It's catch-22 and it fucking sucks. But then so does life, so does love. To hell with all you cunts.

Sunday, 26 July 2015

Sun Day, Some Day

Golly, what frightful melancholy, everyone and everything in England looks so very jolly. Can I stand with you underneath your brolly? Can we watch the rain and share our pain whilst we wait for our train? And when the rain stops and the train has dropped us off, can I see you again? Maybe next time we can watch the sun and have some fun? We might as well for it's too late now for us to ever die young.

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.

Friday, 24 July 2015


Normally I could guarantee two likes. If I kept the swearing to a minimum and didn't dribble too much bile. But then it happened, what I'd been fearful of for a while. One died and the other one disappeared without a trace. Now I'm breaking my back, working every day there is just to save up enough money to travel ten thousand miles to visit a grave. When I finally get there, I don't even know what I'll say. But it will be nice to see you anyway. Even if you'll be dressed all in green and grey. I'll sit with you and let my words fill the empty space to create an even emptier, lonelier place. Just like they do now. Just like they've been doing all these years.

White Dahlias

"Dom," I said.

"James," you said.

"I think this is a dream," I said. "Look around us."

We looked around us. What we saw, I forget. But I remember it filled us with a palpable sense of sadness and regret.

"This isn't a dream," you said. "We're trapped inside one of your stories. That's why we're depressed."

What came first? The chicken or the egg? Would we be inside one of my stories if we weren't already depressed?

"If I could be trapped inside any of our stories," I said. "I'd be the dog in Heartsease, at least then I'd know my misery would soon be coming to an end."

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


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.


I could never have written this in 2009. I would never have thought of this line. But even back then, I remember lamenting the passing of time. But whereas it used to move at a steady trot, now it gallops away from me so the dirt it kicks back in my face is the only trace left of it that I've got.


So many people. People I've shared a joke with. People I've shared a solitary hope with. People I've shared a drink with. People I've lived with. People I've exchanged bodily fluids with. And yet, yours is the only face and name I can seem to remember.


I was watching the kitchen get drunk, swaying and slowly moving towards me, patiently waiting for the thud whilst I contemplated if it's love itself that sucks or just the people we shower our affections upon? All I really know is that we're rolling in shit until the grave we hit. And finally we submerge in it.

Sunday, 19 July 2015

Pick A Spot, Not An Angle

I hope when I die I'm reincarnated as a Daily Mail comment so finally someone likes me. And instead of a gravestone, just shove a selfie stick in the dirt. I want everyone's visits to me to be all about them. God knows that in life they always were. But that's alright, selfie sticks and self-absorbed jerks may break my heart, but death will never hurt me. Death will nurture me.


I used to be able to run for miles. I used to be able to turn your frowns into smiles. Now, after forty hours each week sorting through endless piles of files, I can barely even muster up the energy to lift myself up off these bathroom tiles. I don't think you and I are ever going to make it down the aisle. And I think I'm okay with that.

Monday, 13 July 2015

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.

Monday, 6 July 2015

Return To Sender

We walk towards a nondescript looking hedge and you tell me this is where your father died. We sit down and my hand hovers behind your back whilst I watch you cry. After a while, I close my eyes and let my hand drop back down to my side as my mind drifts off to somewhere beautiful, full of sunshine. I could listen to your pain but I'm sorry, life's too short, I haven't the time. It's someone else's turn to listen to mine.

The More I Repel, The More You Seem To Cast Me Under Your Wicked Fucking Spell

I'm in fucking hell. I'm fucking unwell. I'm fucking all your friends. Or at least all the ones you've never gotten round to deleting off Facebook I guess. Your true close ones all loathe me as well. And every time I ejaculate, I feel like an empty fucking shell. I remember stumbling but you have to land before you can find out exactly how far you fell. All I know is that meeting you was a fucking death knell. I'd swap every day I spent with you for a cancer cell. At the sky I yell, in the ground I wish to dwell.

Easy Sleazy

She said my love was intolerable, she said my love was horrible. I told her, as I touched her leg on the tube to Colindale, that whilst that was entirely probable, I preferred to think of my love as merely unstoppable and for that fact alone, frankly phenomenal. I may be out of my mind, but you could line up every man alive and not one would worship you as much as me, outside and inside. So you may continue to find me unappealing even after you've stared blankly over another hundred different shoulders at your ceiling but I will never change my feelings.


I went to the bank, asked to make a withdrawal and got laughed in the face. I went to a club, asked a pretty woman to dance and got Maced. Sometimes its hard to remember there's a lot to love in this world when there's so much hate.

You Don't Need 20/20 Vision To See Clearly How Your Words Cut Me With Perfect Precision

You told me you felt ugly. I told you in that case you needed a new mirror because there's nothing wrong with my eyes. I've just been to the opticians and I've been eating carrots every day of my life. You told me you wanted to die. I told you that every time you say that, a little of me dies inside. You've so much to live for. I just wish one of those reasons was me.

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.