Tuesday, 25 August 2015

Sometimes Life Gets So Hectic, I Forget To Breathe

Every week - five days losing The Rat Race, two days getting off your face. Rinse and repeat until you finally admit defeat. I miss the days when a pretty woman could cause me grief. Now when they walk out the door, part of me just feels a huge surge of relief.

Brief Monday Musings

Summer spent with you on sand and in grass
Even when I was happy, there was a profound aching in my heart
As if I could already feel Winter's hands making their moves to tear us apart.

Saturday, 22 August 2015

The "Once I Turned 50 Display Picture (or lack there of)"

I carried myself off to bed any chance I got, because sleeping had become far more preferable to being awake. I picked at the corner of my sheets trying to distract myself from thinking about insomnia. Whenever it entered my mind I began to stress and could never get to sleep. I wished I could just stop breathing. I used to kneel by my bed and pray to god that he would take it all away. But I am old now, and I have no time for make believe. No one can take this away except for me, but even Blind Freddy could see that I am not strong enough.

Monday, 17 August 2015

A Life Full Enough To Fill Nothing But A Postcard

If I could be anything, I'd be the most boring man that ever lived. I'd have a boring job and a boring wife and boring kids and I'd take boring shits. Every day, at a quarter past six. I'd always drink sensibly in the same bar and I'd never move house. At one point in my life, I'd contemplate having an affair. But as her hands moved to unbutton her blouse, I'd chicken out. My retirement party would be a quiet affair. I'd never see anyone who attended ever again. With a couple of them I'd exchange birthday and/or Christmas messages until one of our deaths. My funeral would be an even quieter affair. A few modest tears would be shed. And then I'd decay in the ordinary fashion. The maggots would devour me with a passion I never seemed capable of displaying in life. But no matter, I wouldn't be judged, for any memories of me would long since have faded in the boring minds of my boring children and boring wife.

Sunday, 16 August 2015

If I Wrote Love Sonnets To Jesus I'd Be Famous By Now

The anger takes shape around the root of our tongues, and pushes its way out, on the breath of our lungs. We can take nothing with us, not even these words, which were once wrapped and twisted, yet now are unfurled. The life that we had, that we fought for and won, was being packed into boxes marked over & done. I held onto nothing, since nothing was left, my heart was still beating in a bared open chest.

Friday, 14 August 2015

What It's Like With Your Head Off The Pike

I was all that was left of us. Alone and lonely, insignificant. I was at the end of a cul-de-sac, listening to the roar of life out on the highway. A distant rumble as everyone else passed me by. They all felt they did enough after they dropped me quiches and said cheer up soon. A small deviation from the expressway of their life and then back into the fast lane. A few weeks was all they gave me to grieve, and then came an unspoken cut-off. Suddenly I was hanging onto it, being weird about it, I should move on already. They grew impatient, became short with me. They said I should see someone, a professional, and stopped coming around. Told me I was toxic. I was bringing them down.

Everything is easier out there, when you're hurtling down the motorway, making great time. People don't want to stop by to see the hermit living in his rut. They want to keep going, blinkers on, headlong into a dizzying array of jejune distractions, that fly past, and never stop.

Tesco put me in the munchy mood with ten tasty tea-dunkers

I was pretending to care again. I'd been telling myself I shouldn't. That I should just tell people how I really felt, or I suppose, more to the point, how I didn't feel. Instead though, I kept nodding along to the seemingly distant hum of their voice, as they went through the vast list of their various grievances about whoever it was they were talking about. My eyes had glazed over, but I had a knack for keeping a face that portrayed itself as if still listening.

I'd made too many biscuits again, clearly that was weighing on my mind. I'd written a complaint to Tesco to tell them off - recipes these days just don't understand the realities of portion sizes for people who aren't morbidly obese. And so I have two or three tins of biscuits wasting away in the cupboards, probably being eaten by maggots and weevils and every other various thing... every other thing except for my guests. They never ate them. They were all too busy telling me about their boring lives and tedious troubles. My mind was running up the bill of all the ingredients and coming to various figures that made me feel sick to my stomach. Do they know how much it costs to feed all these maggots? The outside corner of the eyelid above my left eye began twitching rapidly. Just like it did the last time. Just like it did when it all boiled over.

Tuesday, 11 August 2015

Jeb's Journey

She told me about her desire to buy more toilet paper. Up until that point I'd never considered it. The idea that women had functioning digestive parts was a completely earth shattering revelation to me. Somehow I'd just figured that food went in and only nice stuff came out. Suddenly my head was swimming with various ideas and images that became less and less unpleasant to me, instead crossing a hitherto uncrossed threshold from repulsive to intriguing. "How.... How many..." I coughed and looked at my feet. My laces were untied, I bunched my toes up to swell the tongue out the top of each shoe. "How many times do you go to the toilet per day?" I finally gasped. "Well," she said, without missing a beat or being put off by my nervousness, "I couldn't stop pissing last night. Couldn't get a good stretch of sleep at all. I think I drink too much herbal tea."

I gulped and relaxed my toes.

Thursday, 6 August 2015

Thursday Afternoon Got No Better

I tried to connect with the outside world. I know there's pain so much greater than that felt over some stupid girl. But when I watched the Local News, they'd mention places I'd been with her and my mind would retreat back there. And when I browsed the papers, I'd see traces of her in pictures of other people's faces. So it's no use. I cleared out my head to make a space for her to always dwell. I just hope in time she'll allow me to create some new, happy memories for her to share the space with as well.

Another Crummy Thursday Morning (A Clean Perspective)

I woke up and forgot you weren't mine. But as soon as I got up and opened the curtains to see the rain outside, I felt more sharply than ever the pain I carry inside. I wanted to crawl back under the bed covers and just hide. But there's no escape from my mind. Even when I'm asleep, you're there. Always there, but not here. So far, yet so near.

Another Shit Thursday Morning

Oh this fucking rain. This fucking pain. This fucking superfluous invective and choice of rhyme again. Everything repeats itself. And I wonder is the end all we ever really seek and is death what we most desire? I enjoy coming because it means I've reached the end of something. Beginnings can be great but the middle carries the most burdensome of weights. And when love is left untouched, it just turns to resentment and hate.

Wednesday, 5 August 2015


I thought I'd punch them in the head. I thought I'd punch them until they bled. Until eventually they were dead, and I felt good inside instead of this morbid scratching ulcer that has spread itself along the lining of my guts. I'd spread myself thin with a series of tiny little cuts, as life pulled away my caring outlook with a constant barrage of cunts. What's in it for me, you runts? You squeal and beg and demand from me an increasingly difficult series of stunts. Jump through the hoop and take a punt on health insurance for once - it covers rectal shunts and cancers of the morbidly obese cunt. I looked at today's fifteenth PDS, under extreme duress, and now, thanks to you, I'm far too angry to be depressed.

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

Tippity Twitchet

In my quiet moments, I often feel utterly hopeless. The future, a blank canvas that however I approach filling, looks nothing but foreboding. My loud moments are just a stupid way of coping. Whatever I said, I was probably joking. The laughter I emitted was only to mask the sound of this useless old heart of mine slowly closing and choking on the bitter memories of to whom it was opened. In pain it's dripping, absolutely soaking.

Sunday, 2 August 2015

What Cecil Said As He Was Shot Down

Life is short, and hearts will break, and bodies will rot, and bones will bake, and crumble to dust in the burning sun, but I will love you forever my son. Your hand in mine and your smiling cheeks, have lifted me up and torn a hole in me. I get a lump in my throat every time you speak, I'll be waiting for you till the next time we meet.
Remember the time that we ran in the rain? I laughed so hard that you thought me insane. But I was so happy, just to be alive, with your little feet matching my stride. Your face flushing red as you kept by my side, I felt a father's pride warming through my insides.

So, my son, I'm sorry I left, I wanted to watch you grow but instead I've left you bereft.
They say that love is just a feeling, but I find that notion unappealing - love is sometimes right, but always left.

The First Song Of August

I know there is darkness in your heart, there is some in mine, but I think if you gave us a chance we could find a bit of light in each other's arms. I can't promise to always keep you safe from harm. I can't promise to always be full of grace and charm. And I can't promise when you annoy me to always stay calm. But I can promise to remain a constant by your side until life decides to sweep one of us aside. Isn't it at least worth a try?