Wednesday, 31 January 2018

Pneumatic Fanatic

We'll throw some more on the pyre, pile it high, set it all on fire. I found a love that could be crushed, put in a box and burnt and turned to dust. I found a love that wasn't red, born not from a heart but from a head. I found a love that lies just long enough for us to think it dead, but then it raises itself up like Christ instead.

There's An Expiration Date On Everything & Everyone

Remember when you posted me a cassette tape of your voice? Back in those days we didn't have a choice. We thought that love was always expanding, never could it be demanding, that we would - despite all odds - be still left standing. And yet, love dies.


None of my Instagram followers bothered to turn up to my funeral. In fact, the amount of people that showed up could be represented using a single numeral. I had two thousand followers but it made my life no more endurable, and now for all my pain, my name is being washed away as if it was scrawled upon the inside of a urinal. Unusual - I thought that I would be seared into people's brains like something incurable, every single word and rhyme I wrote, I was convinced was so mercurial. But now, there I lay, just fleshy decomposing material, ready and waiting to be lunched on by something bacterial. What an outrage that there's not even an editorial, just my date of death and my name in the memorials. God I hope my life was just this game's tutorial, I'll be back, and next time I'm gunna be dictatorial.

Monday, 22 January 2018


You go from one lover to the next
It isn't so much that you want to see them all undressed
So much as it is you want them to see you whilst you're still at your best
But time is already putting your dubious charms to the test
Your life has become such a mess
That you've managed to make even your psychiatrist so depressed
That if they could they'd prescribe you death.

Friday, 19 January 2018

Play On, Euterpe

How do you draw on something so empty? The well is dry where you used to have plenty. Now you try to catch up but you're falling behind, the pressure gnaws on you and it's anxious poison seizes your mind. You've got nothing left, no fuel for the fire, no hardship or toil over which to perspire. You rake over the coals of your past miseries, concerned that you've plundered your last memories. You no longer get any sudden fits of inspiration, just a blank mind with increasingly laboured respiration.

Wednesday, 17 January 2018


I forgot your birthday yet again. I've forgotten now nine times out of ten. It's a mystery how we've even managed to remain friends. I can't even remember your middle name now and then. I turn the tv on and I see Harold and Lou, they're making music together, just like good bros should do. Harold is playing tuba and Lou is on the castanets, they're celebrating friendship, not mulling on regrets. Shouldn't we have a chance to do the same? Shouldn't we too be celebrating? But it seems we can't. For I am always failing.


This rich kid told me his life was worthless and I laughed and said "good try", as if I was going to let him convince me that he knew what it meant to want to die - to live his whole life feeling inconsolable since about the age of five. I laughed, slapped him on the back and said "high five! You almost got me, you almost had me thinking that you knew what it felt like to be deprived. You almost had me thinking you knew how hard life was to survive. You almost had me thinking you wanted to climb the tallest building and take a dive. But I see now, I see your sadness hits you like a drive-by: in and out of you faster than it took it to arrive. I'm not like you, for some of us sadness is the string through which we thread our lives - sadness to us is what it means to be alive. We overflow so much our misery archive would only fit across an external drive. Misery is for the middle aged - come back to me when you're bald, and forty-five.

That's When

I always said, "when I have my degree."
that's when I'll be free.

That's when I'll know I've made it.

So then I said, "when I start my career."
the world will know I'm here.

That's when I'll know I've made it.

And then I said, "when I get a car."
I'll go far.

That's when I'll know I've made it

Of course, "when I buy a house."
and "when I get a spouse."

That's when I'll know I've made it.

Or maybe, "when the kids all come."
I won't be so glum.

That's when I'll know I've made it.

This time I'm sure, "when I'm dead."
Reaching the end, rotting in bed.

That's when I'll know I've made it.

Leftover Christmas Ham

They're singing silent night again and all I wanna do is die. I can't escape this Christmas cheer no matter where I hide. Christmas when I'm missing you has become a dagger in my side. If you had the courtesy to leave me any other time, then perhaps it wouldn't be so stark, I wouldn't feel the need to hide. Now I'm triggered by the flashing lights, the carols and the trees - the mistletoes, the Santas, and all the wisemen three. I want to erase you but you've given me the gift, of feeling every Christmas time like a miserable piece of shit. 

Dear The Internet Sux

I'm not sure whether you guys love cats, your latest posts seem to indicate the opposite of that. You seem to have it out for them, you seem to be two horrible, angry young men.

Yours, Earn

Dear Earn,
I understand our content left you deeply concerned, let me just say that I think you're a giant piece of shit, thinking your opinion is important enough to warrant the airing of it. We would like to affirm that the only interest we have in cats is purely platonic, frankly any suggestion otherwise could only come from an armchair alcoholic, who's getting as pumped up as someone receiving a colonic. And let me tell you Earn, I find your better judgement deeply moronic, I hope you drown face first in your gin and tonic.

Love TheInternetSardonic.

Your Crypto May Be Going Down, But Take Heart - There's Nothing Lower Than Me For A Start

I was crushed but I dribbled through the machinery just the same.
I woke up, did some of the things I had to, then slept and did it all again.
I carried myself through life head bent, shoulders stooped, like a broken tent,
The poles crooked and the skin sagging down, wilting, like an unwatered plant turning brown.
I'm malnourished intellectually, I'm hitting the brakes ineffectually,
I'm turning things over and over inside my mind, but the underneath of each stone is all I ever seem to find.

Tin Roof

The intermittent creak of the tin roof, the only sound
As the sun slips in and out from behind the clouds.
The metal heats, expands, and is lost,
We sit beneath it's shade with both arms crossed.
We're staring away, anxious and soft,
like sapling twigs tying ourselves in a knot,
A hand reaches forth in a sudden spurt
of confidence defying a potential hurt.
A hand that feels so different touches mine,
Fissured, like flesh made from the side of a dime.
I breathe in, and her eyes meet mine,
Oh youth! Naïveté! You're so divine.

Send In The Tranqs

My latest works have all been trash, I'm heading for a mental crash. I'm ready to quit - tell my three followers - I'm sure they'll not give a shit. They were probably only laughing at me, taking my work, sending copies of it, saying: "Hey, look at this stupid tit!"
"He's writing about his pitiful life again, as if anyone cared one tiny bit."
"Have you seen his latest post about how he feels a massively miserable twit?"
"I'd hate to meet him in the street, he sounds such a pathetic dick, with his hipster typewriter - what a pretentious prick!"

Tuesday, 16 January 2018

Number 3

I can't help but feel like it's the end of our days
The world is floating by in a distant haze
And you keep saying it is only a phase
While I hold onto cheap memories of us, as the orange sunset turns to gray.

Tuesday, 9 January 2018

Defeat Comes Not When You're Out Of Options, Defeat Comes Through Constant Interruption

Steel framed madness wrapped bullet, streaking orange fire and black smoke into the sky. I always wanted so desperately to die, that it seems ironic that I would care so much right now that I'm alive, that I have been foiled in my one attempt to finally try. I mean, should I not simply roll over and let myself subside, fall into the earth, burrow in a rabid lunacy and cry? I don't want merely to survive, I don't want to strive, I don't want to fail, and fumble, and fight until I thrive. I just want to fly, leave you all behind and say goodbye. I've worked out now that it's not me that needs to die - it's all of you - you all need to fucking fry.

Goodbye My Love, All I wanted To Do Was Hold You Softly Like A Dove, But I Am Weak And My Body's Made Of Sludge

She is fierceness and mystery and a heat that is blistering, inescapable flickering - her light is shimmering and she draws me in like a gossamer moth with wings glistening, my heart open - listening, as if covered in ears that are prickling. But to her I'm a slug slithering, over the cold earth shivering, desperately quivering for the warmth she's delivering.

I just want to feel her heat, nuzzle her and worship at her feet, learn to live and love and lust and leap, but I am just rotten, just old, just old rotten festering meat.