Dear Alice..

Dear Alice, I’m ‘fine’,
Hope this finds you in kind.
I’ve been writing some time
To you now, and I find,
You’re a strange friend of mine,
At least here in my mind.
Here inside of my mind, at least most the time.

Dear Alice, how are you?
If I am to stay true,
I’m having to tell you
That I’m lonely and blue,
I don’t know what to do
When the sky..The sky I swore would stay blue,
Is now gangrenous in hue.

Dear Alice, I’m dying,
Lost and I’m crying,
No amount of applying
Myself
Really matters
Anymore.
And I know that we swore..

Dear Alice, love you,
But I hate your guts too.
Everybody assumes
I suture up in my room.
With some string and old glue,
But I’m confessing to you,
There’s not much left I can do.

Dear Alice, I forgot,
To tell you just what
You really want me to not.
I sliced completely through our promise knot,
Along with my flesh, veins and a lot
That when I cut it apart,
All those stitches and knots,
Can’t put Humpty back on top.

Dear Alice, don’t you
Feel the very same too?
It’s not just things I go through,
But all the things , all the things, all the things I’ll never do.

So I’m cold. On the floor bleeding out
In so many different ways,
And every wound is very deeply laid
By every single fucking wasted day,
By all the thoughtless things that people say.

And I don’t want to stay, no, don’t want to stay.
Not like this anyway.
Hope you’ll forgive me some day.
Dear Alice.

Joke’s on me..


Didn’t get that far through ‘Joker’,
Before I started to cry.
I wouldn’t make a very good clown,
I couldn’t say why.

Movies I see in myself
Always tend bring me down,
Because people are cruel and unkind
To those with a different mind.

You’d have to look pretty hard to find
One more different than mine
Around here.

I can’t put a label on it,
Except that I don’t seem to fit
Around here.

But I still couldn’t tell you why,
A movie of a man who laughs
Is making me cry.

Forgetful

I forgot to notice
When I stopped thinking I was ok.
If indeed, I ever considered such circumstance.
Now I am older,
Supposedly wiser,
But still, I find myself lost.
A child in a crowd,
Frightened and alone.
Alone on my own instead,
The crowd is in my head,
Everyone I’ve ever met,
Everything I ever said
To them.
Or maybe ever will,
Still,
I stopped forgetting
To notice if
I ever thought
That I thought I was ok.

Once was Alice

I saw Alice in a shattered mirror,
Barely recognised or seen.
I knew that I’d been out of touch
And asked her how she’d been.
I hoped she hadn’t suffered much.

She said she hurt. Hurt like never before,
No drugs worked, no sun anymore.
She looked at me, then I was the mirror,
She said ‘how’s it feel now you’re broken through?
Do you bleed inside? Are you out of your mind?
‘Cause I’m out of my mind too.’

And all that I could say,
Was I even died on good days,
Because every morning feels
Like a spiders sting that stays.
And though the ground falls beneath me,
I float because I’m empty.
But deflate too soon.

She nodded, not seeming very surprised.
‘No one sees me either, I’m just dust in people’s eyes.’
‘No words I can believe,
Because they’re designed just to deceive.
I can always see through,
Anything and everything said to
Me.’

I felt her pain, nodded again,
Said it’s lonely here without you.
‘Someones touch, I crave so much.
Even if they hold me and squeeze,
‘Til my insides crush and bleed,
I still might get what I need.’

She said they always leave you wounded.
Her torso had a hole,
And it bled right through her soul.
She turned, and then she became me,
Or did I become her inside?
The hole was in my torso though,
And that was how we died.

Your very own butterfly effect

As you no longer stand
Where you always stood,
This emptiness inside me is so
Poorly understood.
One hundred million butterflies
Together flapped their wings
The moment you departed.
A coiencedntal thing? That did far
More than leave me broken hearted,
Now it’s a massive tidalwave your
Butterflies have started.
As it looms, large above my shores,
I’m left without a life-boat,
All I have are wooden oars.
And although it means that I would drown,
If you need them,
They are yours.

Catch 22

If I had anything to say, maybe of interest,
I’d pin the fuckin’ thing up on my pinterest.
But all my conversations now are with myself,
And it’s slowly eating at my mental health.

Like seagulls picking at a whales’ rotting corpse,
The wide beach view is fine, until of course,
You look a bit closer, see the detail,
That’s my sanity: half eaten whale.

I should probably get a friend or maybe two,
I like them in the same way I like you.
Fine until they open up their mouth,
Then I don’t want to hear whatever shit is coming out.

Well, maybe I’m a narcissistic bitch,
With some kind of messed up mental itch,
But if I scratch it ’til it don’t itch any more,
There’ll be chunks of greyish matter scattered all over the floor.

They say you’ll never love someone ‘til you learn to love yourself,
Well Catch 22, here’s a thought, let me share the wealth.
How can I learn to love myself, ’til I’m loved by someone else?
The lesson goes both ways, as most good lessons do,
And because everybody else hates me,
I’ve learned to hate me too.

When was it you left?

I never even noticed the clock.
Did it tick?
Did it tock?
Did it not?
Was it frozen in indecision,
In the moment that was lost
When you reached the doorway threshold
And you stepped across?
Stuck? Between that second and the last,
Unable to move on, unable to move past
A fate of helpless observation,
Endless replaying rotation.
A mechanical mind,
Unable to find resolution
Or a hint of absolution,
Sounds so very much like mine.
Because when you left the last time,
When you left for the very last time..
I never even noticed the clock.

the forest for the me’s

I can smile at a party.
After the turn out, I
Turn off my burnt out
Holographic face.

Who

I can greet you on the street
And you won’t even ask
About the chosen mask
I look through out at you.

Am

I can attend a family event,
I’m still quite able
To sit at a table,
Pretending to be me.

I

See the pallette spread before me,
Choose a colour, it adorns me.
Pick the right one, I can be
Anyone I want to be.

?

If I can be anybody, oh so easily,
No difference that any one, not even I can see,
One face or another, all so equally..

Which one is really me?

Sugary Bipolar Low

She brings me spun-shadow,
Like a cotton-candy treat,
Delicate, and deceptively sweet,
She says ‘taste of this’.

Already sugar high,
It’s so easy just to try
Spun sugar with a darker dye,
Just a bite.

But an insidious spiders web,
A sticky gossamer thread
Like fine, fine spun-sugar,
Gets inside your head.

Ensnares you there
In shadows.
Wraps around you,
Like a sticky quicksand glue.

Mired in darkness
That clings and brings
You down.
‘Taste of this’.

Spun-shadow.

Together Forever (not)

So this is what ‘forever’ looks like
From the other side.
A lot like broken promises
And echoes of goodbye.
Like everything you never got
But always thought you’d get.
Like each forgotten lonely grave
Of every childhood pet.
The only thing that’s certain is,
It looks a lot like loneliness.

All the Times

One AM is staring at the ceiling.
Two AM, the window and the moon.
Three AM can’t tell me what I’m feeling,
Four o’clock is too large for this room.

Five is slowly breathing in,
Six is breathing out.
Seven with the sun up brings
Another day without

You.

Unseen

Each time you pass me in the hall
I find new depths to fall into,
When all I ever wanted was
Some kind of smile from you.
One meant just for me,
Have your eyes focus and see
Me standing there,
Red faced and feeling small.

Bus Seat. (prosetry)

Sits uneasily, bus seat perfunctory.
A lump of hard plastic.
Stares through the once was window, now just a diary of scratches and rage.
Watches uncertain possibilities of herself huddling around trash-can fires, scrounging through back alleys behind steaming food stores.
Standing staring back with vacant yet accusing eyes.

Sees herself in the cracks.
The could have been.
Might have been.
Almost was.
Hot and heavy tears,
Almost unfallen,
Often unnoticed.
Always unsure.
Perhaps they fall for all the could-have-beens.
Perhaps they fall because I’m uncertain on which side of the glass I belong.
Feels lucky.

Feels guilty.
Hates the burden of this unwanted blame.
Unresolved guilt builds into anger.
Resents your unspoken accusations.
Sick with self-doubt about how true they may actually be.
Hates these imagined obligations of grief, twisted and embedded in my head.
All these not-so-very-unlikely possible, potential versions of me.

I hate them.
I hate you.
I hate myself.
I hate society, for making me feel as though I should constantly feel lucky.

Lucky to be as damaged and fucked up and empty as I really am.
Oh, so lucky.

Once upon a lover

How long since gentle hands
Knew well the contours of my face?
My body.
Your hands.

When last did we not kiss,
Rather drink of each others lips
The lingering taste of dew
And morning sun?

Too many days plus one,
My love,
Too many days plus one.

punishment?

Please explain my existence,
Society, and it’s distance,
That only ever amplifies this
Self imposed resistance.
Decorating pillows with tears,
My armor but a quilt,
Alone, confused, helpless,
Masturbation and guilt.
I must have murdered an angel
In a previous life, now I atone,
Endlessly tortured and punished,
My brain is not my own,
Just constant echoes of darkness,
Alone, Alone, Alone.

insignificant

I am small.
Not even
Second-hand dust.
I fit, I fall, am lost
Between the unseen cracks
In those lives I long to touch.
I am small.
Breathe me in, or
Sweep me up.
You’ll never notice me, or
What I want most of all.
I am small.

strangely lonely

They said ‘don’t you talk to strangers’,
So I never spoke to anyone new.
And when I no longer knew myself,
I stopped talking to her too.