Thursday, 30 March 2017

To Let: Large Semi-Detached, Unfurnished, 4 Chambers, 2 Atriums

There was nothing left to escape. Nothing was left inside. I'd long since spewed every feeling that had wormed it's way from the cracks along the outside of my mind. Day upon day since the day I was hired, all I've gotten is older and more tired. Month upon month since the days I was inspired, all I've done is spun further and further from my old list of dreams and desires. Year upon year since the time as a baby I was so admired, I have lost a part of me that I didn't even know that I required. Decade upon decade until the day I finally retire, I expect all I'll keep dreaming of is the day that I'll finally expire.

The Withering Post

Remember the time the story inside me died? I went to bed that night and suddenly felt inspired, yet far too tired to get up, and so then it expired. A world snuffed out, a spark never fired.

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Wednesday, 8 March 2017


I've scheduled it in. it'll be fine. These few moments are totally mine. I'll sit back, beer in stein, or mull it over with a glass of mulled wine. The words will come, and some will shine, and others will be overseasoned with too much whine. There'll be stories, and banter and ridiculous rubbish, beauty too, and sadness, all of it unpublished.

St. Peter Swore He'd Never Eat Trout, And This Coming From A Guy Who'd Eat Any Bastard Out

I'd never known a girl who sashayed. She was moving in perfect harmony as music made up from bits of older bands I'd never heard of played. 

The summer sun was streaming through the sheer curtains, lighting her golden hair and making me want her all the more. If this roach motel room, which was about the best we could afford, wasn't full of all our mutual friends (and some others I abhorred), then perhaps we could find each other's eyes, hands, and clasp each other's bodies on the floor. Take the grand sexual tour: en-suite, bedroom, up against the refrigerator doors. This wasn't lust though, that's for sure, I'd been pursuing her (as well as a teenager can), for a year or more. I dropped hints, smiles, and worked my gentlemanly wiles. I bought her booze and when she had a blue I even stood up for her too. So finally I got my wish: highschool ended, and all us mates were totally in bliss, we packed up a camper van and ran, to the big smoke, to fill ourselves up on sun and sand.

And then one night she walked in with you. A DJ. A bastard faced asshole douchebag bucket of spew. I always thought that one day I'd wake up next to you, but not like this, not whilst you're using the bed I'm in as a place in which to screw.

Silently I wait for him to finish deflowering you, I wait for him to fall asleep, and I wait for you to snooze. Only then can I allow myself to cry, to sneak out and come to terms with the feeling I've just been sodomized.

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The shrill sound of a crow's sudden squawk, becomes ice water down my spine like fingernails pretending to be chalk. Silent chatter clatters around, surrounding me in talk, the cracks in my mind are no longer muted by this pill flavoured caulk. Life was what happened around me, as numb and dumb I walked forth, and tears were something I once hated but now so desperately I stalk.

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Chicken Soup

You and your photos of your grotesque looking dinners. Food devoid of smell and desire is just a trash pile of colour and pre-digested, pre-fecal gloop. We met that night, dressed up in our rented tights, dressed up to the nines and took photos on your stoop. Your grandfather cried, his crest fell as he laid down the camera and his smile began to droop. "What once was mine I've left behind in the endless self preservation pursuit, when your parents died, I raised their pride and made it well on bowls of chicken soup, but here am I, now left behind on this creaking and lonely stoop. Even if I had no time, no peace in my mind nor strength in my spine, I'd always be there looking out for you."

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