Tuesday, 28 June 2016

Peter Pan In Pensthorpe Gardens

Even if his shoes have long since dried, I wonder if his memories are still all wet. I think we'd all be shocked and horrified if we were shown the size of container we'd need to collect all the tears shed as a direct result of all the things we've done and said. Memories should come in the thesaurus under regret. You come top of the list of all the things I'd like to forget.

Polly Pissy Pants

I used to have a handle on it but it appears to have gone amiss, the handle on the other side has fallen off and I'm left trapped in a room filling with my own piss. I tried to bail myself out but discovered I just don't have the gist, of what it means to be a person who isn't drowning in their own piss.

I gave up and let it fill my shoes and felt just like that kid, who went to parties with the purpose of collecting other's piss, I just thought that if I could accept it, that would be the tits, because otherwise I'll just die unhappy, here, drowning in my own piss.

I Voted To Leave The EU But I Will Never Leave You

I'll remain a permanent stain upon your dumb cunt brain. You can ask me to leave, again and again and again, but no matter how many times you do, the result will always be the same - we'll never be through. Skin can bruise and skin can heal. Repeatedly. Until you've reached the point where you can no longer feel. And sure, your heart may be numb from all the damage I've done, but I'll make sure it's forever only my name that comes off your tongue. There are endless ways to puncture a lung. But for us to be free of each other, there is only one. Surrender yourself to love.

Saturday, 25 June 2016

The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy

By now Fred was probably dead. His old shop had long since been replaced with a Thai restaurant instead. Corner hardware stores were now just a piece of history, and his stumped, half removed fingers remain forever one of my life's mysteries. My friends from school said he'd shot them off with a gun, My parents said it was an enigma best not unspun. Regardless, I used to love pretending to peruse, whilst watching him run his stumpy fingers through the boxes of loose screws. He'd hold a bugle head out to me, I'd say my dad needed it most urgently, and he'd let me have it just for free.

Wednesday, 22 June 2016


Everything inside me died. All the love, and lust and pride. Everything that gave me drive, and away from everyone I've shied.

I'd like to say that I've survived, but I'm so busy these days I'm not even sure I'm still alive. Every five seconds something else new passes me by, and my mind drifts away, escapes, and drifts idly by.

Thursday, 16 June 2016

Naturally, We'll Lose

But hopefully my S Pen will inspire me to write my will before some terrorist decides I've got the kind of face they want to kill. And hopefully my heart will one day receive as much care and attention as the dozens of S Notes I'm forever striving to fill. With terrible tales of woe about how love is an elixir we all seek to acquire but its side effects are the bitterest of pills. Yadda yadda yadda. End result: nil. I just hope someone stops us from scrolling before our brains become terminally ill.

Monday, 13 June 2016

The Galaxy Blues

Hopefully my S-Pen will inspire me to reach new heights of miserableness that we never previously thought possible. Hopefully this second monitor I've plugged in makes us unstoppable. Hopefully I don't just use it to scroll Facebook on two simultaneous screens, scrolling down and down forever whilst feeling too sedated to voice my screams. I'd like for us to just once fall arse backwards into a win, instead of everytime we look up copping it squarely on the chin.