Saturday, 29 July 2017

Misery And Desperation Wrapped In A Shell Of Isolation, Self-Deprecation And Ultimately Mutilation.

When I was young I naively thought that someone might find me when they wracked their brain and thought of who they might like to be. Then I grew up and thought that maybe, at least someone might find me when they thought of who they might like to see. But these days I'd be lucky to be found even by an auto-dial machine, even by a government employee looking to chastise me about book returns or unpaid fees. I struggle to breathe - well - metaphorically, as I weave through life despondently not making this world any better for anybody. Not even me.


You were purple when you popped out and I thought that you were dead. The back of my mind had been awash with a sucking sense of dread, and then there you were laying motionless, all blue and blotched in red. I looked at your mother and very nearly said - 'for all the tears and sweat and blood that you've just latterly shed, was this all some horrid joke where we leave alone instead?' At least, I guessed, we'd had a crack and we'd soon be home in bed, because we'd been here twenty hours now and we felt like walking dead. But before I got to air my grieving, capitulating sigh, your mother stopped her screaming, clung to you and said "oh! Hello! Hi!" and then you opened up your eyes, moved your head about and cried. You were both so amazing, so strong, and so alive. I felt so alive that I very nearly died.


Marry hard and marry fast, because those looks of yours aren't going to last. Marry soon, marry now, get yourself hitched to that mad cow. Take the plunge, right off the cliff, tie the noose knot, become a stiff. Marriage is a sleeper hold, be brutal, resolute and bold. White dress and finger crowned, it's the ultimate take down.

Sunday, 23 July 2017

When You Can't Even Be Bothered Grasping At Perfection Any More, And "Nearly Good Enough" Is The Only Thing You Can Be Bothered Aiming For

I feel bad for those pretty girls with their perfectly plucked brows, their ruby lips, mascara'd tips and their foundation laden jowls. For the hours that they must spend alone and early preening for perfection, that they waste it all to come to work and see me in the reflection. My unwashed face, and unloved hair, my disheveled clothes. the way my face isn't quite right and the ugliness of my nose. The way I can't be bothered to even make the time, to find a way to fix my skin or exfoliate all my grime. And those girls stand and smile all the while pretending I'm not disgusting, is it any wonder then that I have grown up so untrusting?

Wednesday, 12 July 2017

The Only Way Out Is With Me

Who is your favourite pepper? The pig, the food or Pepper Steiger? I just want to share my spark with you like your cigarette does as it dangles over my lighter. I'd flick and lick away at you, just like it does too. I'd warm you up inside like the smoke you suck inside. I'd burn myself away for you, and like the nicotine I'd burrow into you. Make a home in you. Make you briefly feel as good as new. Then make you hate yourself like I do too. A guilt you can't shake. A life you can't take. A scrambled batshit cake you can't ever hope to escape or unbake. Here I am, a rolled gold, great mistake.

Tuesday, 4 July 2017

No Sausages On Your Last Day

No sausages for you old friend, you're one step down the ladder. You don't share a farewell party, nor does anyone cook you any cake batter. The halls are empty now of all that would see you go, you poured your heart into this place, but that's something that the walls will never show. You take your petty trinkets and carry sadness in your tow, nothing is ever so hard as leaving when you don't want to go. Perhaps I'll see you round sometime though your future's bound to be brusque, I remember, I witnessed, I appreciated your efforts as you became a husk.

I Never Thought That I'd See Glue Every Time I looked At You

Let's keep trying. No giving up. No leaving our love to lay dying. pushing up the buttercups.
Let's keep fighting. No giving up. No acknowledging the wall's handwriting, no getting stuck.
Let's keep going. No giving up. No slacking off or to-and-fro-ing, let's never break this up.
Let's keep together. No giving up. No throwing it all away untethered. No such fucking luck.

The View

I'll like it some day, when I'm on the other side from you, as the synapses snap shut as I forget all I knew. I'll look back on this time that I'm hating, with a wistful head full of nostalgic contemplating. Everything looks better from a distance... even you.