Sunday, 31 January 2016

Another One

The words seems so trite
The rhymes seem so lazy
The sentiments seem so shite
I never wanted my life to turn into such a cliché
But with some things you have no fucking say
I can't stop people dying
I can't stop people leaving
God knows I've spent my whole life trying
But now I've stopped believing
That a happy middle let alone a happy ending is anything I'll ever be receiving
When someone new enters my life I immediately start grieving
For the initial light they shine upon my life is just cruel and deceiving
If only the pain they caused was as fleeting
As the stupid fucking notion that they could give my life any meaning
Maybe when I stop breathing
I'll finally discover something eternally pleasing.

Thursday, 28 January 2016

Not What I Pictured

I miss my Mother. I miss my Father. I miss my Sister. But more than anyone, I miss myself. And I miss the scenery that I walked amongst as I dreamt of becoming someone else.

I still see my Mother. I still see my Father. I still see my Sister. I still see myself. But now he walks amongst different scenery and he's become someone else. And I don't like or know this man as well. He's still in his own quiet hell. But as the years stack up, there's more people keeping him there. They join him briefly and then leave without seemingly a care. They must see it as His failure. He always hoped one of them would let him leave with them.

With the absence of anything, there's sort of a relief, an inner peace. With an absence in everything, there's a part of you that feels nothing but an endless, overlapping grief.


Wednesday, 27 January 2016

In Between The Ugly Reminders Of How You've Been Wasting Your Time

There's a hole in my wife's life that she can't ever seem to hide and that I can't ever seem to fill up. Even when I make an effort to make love to her instead of just fuck. I can't help but wish I was somewhere else, that I was someone else's husband, that it was Carlotta Cosials I was fucking. Sometimes I wonder if I just wasn't built for loving. If I was built for nothing. I can't say that I've ever felt part of something - my head is here but I've always felt it's belonged next to Sylvia Plath's in the oven.


My Victorious Stalingrad

I've never felt better about feeling so bad. I've never wanted something less yet at the same time felt so glad. Being with you were the best worst moments of my life that I've ever had. Never in a million years would I take you back but to let go of you completely either... are you mad? You'll forever be an itch upon my scratching pad.

Tuesday, 26 January 2016

Callipygous

There's a hole in my life that I can't ever seem to fill up, Even when I turn the shit that life throws at me to lemonade and drink deeply from it's cup. I can't help but wish I was another version of another man, or perhaps I feel like that is exactly what I am. I can't even work out which member of Hinds I most want to get behind, and hold tightly whilst I use a gun to alleviate what is left of my mind. I can't say that I've ever felt like this - where the knife's been in for years but no one will give me the satisfaction of a twist.


Friday, 22 January 2016

I've Run Out Of Finish Powerball Tablets And I Don't Know What To Do With My Life

I used to dog them like a hound. Run them down until their standards hit the ground. But now, when I look around, I think: 'that's nice', and reminisce of the one time or twice that I went out on the town - said "hey baby wanna destroy all humans?" and was turned down. If concupiscence was a leaf then my whole tree is uprooted and turning brown. But at least I'm at the top, at least I'm wearing the crown.


Well. That is. Until it all comes crashing down.

Jemz's Five Most Flavoursome Zingers 2015 Q4

Joe Mangled


Tuesday, 19 January 2016

The Oldest Me

What's the point in fucking trying? We're all fucking dying. On the outside, we're all fucking lying. On the inside, we're all fucking crying. Just to write these words is so fucking trying. I can feel my apathy intensifying. Every fucking thing forever so unsatisfying. People so fucking mystifying. Even our misery can't seem to be unifying. 

The Latest Her

They say hindsight is a wonderful thing but all I think it does is make you feel like an idiot. And I'm sick of it. Pain seems to be a prolific writer to whom I'm the main recipient. I'll watch quietly and stoically as without me Her life becomes brilliant. All the while my long, slow dance becomes ever more hideous. A jarring, uncomfortable spectacle to which everyone seems oblivious.

Friday, 15 January 2016

More Shit Tennis Coverage

So yeah, I'm back. I've finally taken off my Christmas 2015 party hat. Put all the presents back in Santa's sack. Dusted myself down, only to discover my heart is still black. And a reason to live I still lack. So here's to 2016, in which more shit tennis coverage no doubt awaits in amongst another long, slow dance with The Fates. I have a feeling this one is going to be truly great.

Rickshaw Pile-Up

Hey, how have you been? It's been a while since I've been in touch. The cancer has been busy eating me up. It's only the self-loathing that spits it back out. It rejects everything I touch and keeps me alive just long enough for yet another joyless fuck.