Bright, bright, sun shiny day..

I want to move somewhere super cliché
Like Paris, NewYork or even L.A.
I want to find someone, so we can be together,
You know what they say about “being alone forever”.
Actually what DO they say about being alone forever?

I hope it’s something positive,
I hope it’s something clever.

I doubt it’s a saying about sunshine and fun,
It seems like it’s great, but it’s far too hot, for one.
Cos if you live where I live, you grow to hate the light.
If you live like I live, then you learn to love the night.

Too much light simply burns you up,
Yet I continue to try it all over again.
I never learned to learn my lesson, so
Just earn third degree pain.

Here comes the night, little darlin’,
Here comes the night…
And I say..

..it’s alright.

message from The Matrix…or is it real life?

knock knock Alice. .
. .
Follow the white rabbit. . (done that)

Take the red or blue pill, actually take both, and a fuckload of others as well.
No, you’re still insane, but at least we got a laugh out of it.

The mainlines have been broken, everything made wi-fied,
While adults turned violent, and hospitalised children cried,
Trampled for a roll of toilet paper.

But that’s what humans do, right?
Accept and like it, don’t try to fight.
Thats what normal is.
You’re the crazy one for wanting out.
FU-CK-ING CRAZY.

Drink to excess, abuse drugs,
Grab a weapon and join in the fray,
Becuase that’s what’s considered OK.

But if you try to leave on your own,
We’ll lock you up FOREVEVER
and pump you full of the equivalent
of a chemical lobotomy.
For your own good, of course.

Dance

That was your time to dance around the fire on the beach with friends.
And you missed it.
Hesitant. Unsure, so you resisted.
Now life has happened too soon.
And you missed it.
Sat and watched when you should have embraced it and kissed it.
And it hurts now, doesn’t it?

Things to come.. (Prose)

How many times each night did she rewrite her life?
Change what happened.
Do things differently.
SAY SOMETHING.
Instead of..

At least three.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight in a futile effort to block out the memories burned into her brain.

She grabbed her laptop and flipped it open. It loaded to the default state: new text document. Her fingers began to flicker across the keyboard to the gently backlit sullen, blood red light.

“Alice sat and watched the storm clouds building.
Each time she went through this scenario, they seem to gather more quickly. More aggressive and brooding.

The sky grew darker, and she watched helplessly as the forest around her began to crumble and decay.
Despite all her abundant power in the lucid-dream world, and even being formidable in this semi-conscious state, all she could do was look on, frozen, as the thick, black, oily substance smothered the ground as it flowed, as it did every night, relentlessly towards her, and she knew she would soon drown it it, as she did every time.

There was a muted thumping sound, as though someone was chopping down a tree, somewhere in the woods.
Deep within her meditative state,Alice looked around, confused. The woods were only dust and black slime, there was no one to be seen.

More thumping, like a knocking noise.
Unable to see the source, she started to stand up to investigate, but found her legs were already trapped by the inky black fluid that was creeping its way up her body.
She screamed and struggled , trying to free herself, momentarily forgetting about the thumps.
Her hands flickered across the keyboard, subconsciously spelling out the message which she read, momentarily disoriented.
“Knock, Knock, Alice!”
She furrowed her brow, re-reading the last line she had entered, and realized her subconscious was telling her something again.
She sucked deeply through her lips in frustration, and removed her headphones.

She growled in frustration. They knew better than to interrupt her at this time of night

To emphasize her annoyance, she flicked an imaginary cigarette butt towards the trashcan in the corner, watching it sail through the air as it missed the bin, bounced, sparked, and faded away.
Her imagination was perhaps the source of her greatest strength.

‘WHAT!!? She called loudly, despite the fact that the loud music was only coming from the head phones around her neck.

Willows

The whisper of willow leaves,
Wind winding through the trees,
Can’t do a thing to ease
Thoughts like a million bees
Inside my head.

Nine hundred thousand
Are things that you said,
One hundred thousand more,
To make sure that I bled.

Reflections

Sparks..
Floating hot
..like… embers…
..memories?..
Flit erratically … and
I remember..?
Separation.
Thought from mind.
Mind from thoughts.
Reality from …?
and then The Dance.
Floating.
I have found the fae-folk,
And they are angered.
My intrusion, unnatural,
Unwanted, unwelcome.
I step forward, but cannot.
You may not cross the barrier
In such a manner, I am told.
Go back, Human,
Even Death does not want you.

Plastic lives

I watch the people, and their
Greener sided fences.
I note their masks and their reflex defenses.
I move through life just being myself,
‘though I could be anyone. Anybody else.

I watch the people and their plastic smiles,
Their luxury sports cars driven less than five miles.
Armani suits, suited to suit them,
Or viewed through the right eyes, suiting their disguise.
And I wonder if they’re happy in their artificial lives.

I watch the people. I could mimic their movements,
Act out their gestures, smiles, plastic puppetry.
And I wonder if I’m happier inside self-misery.
‘Cos I could have it, have everything I see.
And all it would cost is me.

Troubled Mind

I have a troubled mind,
Athough the trouble’s mine,
I find I always mind, mind the trouble, yeah.

I get angry,
Oh I get angry. and
I don’t know why it’s true, but, I get angry that I do.

And It’s not me, no,
At least, the one I used to be,
and, it’s not me, no, not the me that I’m trying to find, no..

Somebody help me, won’t
Somebody kill me, cos,
I have a troubled mind,
And everyday I find
My troubles spilling over
On to you, on to you.

Feel the spin?

Do you feel it?
When you are down,
Down inside yourself?

Those deeper dives.

The separation and fear.
Silently Screaming
This isn’t me!

All the while,

Clinging desperately,
Tighter still,
To every failing fragment.

Tumbling between

The darkness of the void,
And the bright splintering light of insanity.
Feel that sickening

Sickening spin?

Haircut

Reckless I,
Hair and life in tangles.
Heedless I,
Hair and life a mess.

Careless I,
Hair and life darker than they should be.
Lazy I,
Should buy a brush.

Losing it..

My mind’s become my enemy,
Playing all these tricks on me.
Is it now, before or after?
Each waking day I’m walking through
Makes each nightmare
Seem softer.
Mixed up, used and self-abused,
My screaming sounds
Like laughter.
Am I collapsing in, or
Falling apart?
Wherefore, my happy-after?

Where do we go, from here?

My thoughts ring out like gunshots,
I feel the wounds within,
The warmth inside me bleeds away,
My soul is wearing thin.

I’m standing here in darkness,
Staring straight into the sun.
My heart unable to decide if
I’m ending or just begun.

The choice keeps getting colder.
Do I end here or begin?
Because before I get much older,
I might end up giving in.

Plagiarisation

‘I say’, said Alice,
And so she did.

Until such a time,
At another tea party,
In a different rabbit hole,
She heard, reverb, words
She knew were hers.
She recognised well that which she had created,
Now in another place, twisted and restated.
And she screamed with anger.

But her mouth was quite full,
Of delicious cake.
And she choked, and swallowed,
Furious!
Then, on reflection, took another nibble,
And swallowed again.

‘You’, she said most sternly,
‘Have NO RIGHT!’.
‘No right at all’, she continued,
‘To take words that I have wrought,
And use them as your own retort.’

But no one replied, and
With no thief in sight,
She returned, despondently,
To eating cake and thinking furiously to herself,
In between appreciating the silky sweet icing,
How she might, she might..

‘Someone has stolen my words!
I simply can’t abide the pilferring
Of perfectly presentable poetical practice.
Something must be done!’
And something was.

The familiar cry :
“Off with her head” was heard,
And with it, every poetical line and verb
Alice had created here,
Indeed, once there, had dissapeared.

Oops! Something happened to their page.
‘And that’, thought Alice, ‘is that’.

‘But now I don’t know what to say.
They’ve taken my mouth and my voice away.
They’ve taken my words away!’
‘I can’t say what I wish, I wish!’

‘Words and emotions I need to shout!
Going ’round in my head like a fish,
And THEY CAN’T GET OUT’!’

‘An Alice with no voice of her own,’, smirked the Cheshire Cat, ‘is hardly an Alice at all, now is she? My, my, whatever shall she do?’.

‘I suppose I may as well no longer write, Cat’, said Alice.
‘As I cannot speak the words of how i feel then,
In case someone was to simply steal them.’

‘But I don’t know how I might ever mend,
Without all my words to spend,
Like bright pennies at a bakery..’

She had a thought.
Say, do you have any cake?’

Alice sat, munching cake, and taking time out to think on the matter

Unbelonging

She wakes up every morning
Just to die a little more,
And this feeling, unbelonging,
Well she wonders what it’s for.

The world’s a crazy jigsaw,
With no design to it,
And still she always tries so hard
To make the pieces fit.

The clutter of her past life,
Scars from so-called friends,
Too much toxic baggage
In a suitcase of pretend.

Life is life, no meaning,
No laugh, no joke, no prize.
There’s just the punchline friend,
And you’ll find it’s coffin size.

Dead before due

Around my house
They’re planting cemetery trees,
And there’s no breeze.
No bees,
Forth, or back,
As the flowers all bloom black,
In a garden such as no-one sees.
And the children play no more,
Where once they played before,
Outside my door
In the street.
Nobody can see me now,
At least, unless they choose,
Except the girl that lives in the house on fire
And pretends she has new shoes.
She says hello
From time to time.

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.

Dark. Darker. Darkest.


The fall of darkness finds
Everyone judged,
Sleeping within cool sheets
And honest dreams. Though some perhaps,
Twisted sheets. Twisted dreams.

You said you drew night near
Because it was a dark and endless place.
One of life’s hidden mysteries,
How darkness folds to finds more space.

Recursive fractals, unlimited dimensions?
Logical limitations until you
Reverse them, inverse them,
Treat them like university knickers,
Frontwards, backwards,
Inside out. Then front and back again.

Where does the negative space go
When it’s right there, missing on the page?
Where does everything else go,
When darkness makes it all unseen?
Peer into the spaces between,
Nothing that isn’t, is ever what it seems.

Perhaps darkness isn’t endless,
But rather an end in so many ways.
Severed from the tip of the universe
When the beginning was just beginning
It’s beginning phase.

And not knowing what else to do,
It just lingered without a clue,
Clinging and surrounding.

Maybe darkness
Is simply a lost and lonely loose end.
Looking for a friend.

Lost

Where’d it go?
The bright star I should follow.
The blackbird or the swallow,
I hoped would guide me home.

For I am lost.

Meandering, misguided and malingering,
Looking for a coloured string
Or breadcrumbs softly scattering
That mark my path unknown.

You may feel lucky when you know where you are,
But unfortunately for me and my stolen star,
This reversely is adversely conversely true,
And I’ve wandered way too far.

And the moment, this moment, well maybe I own it,
Or maybe I’m in a dark room,
Pitch black, with a cat that I’m trying to catch,
Whose existence I only assume.

And my dreams all sprout from darkness sown,
And I’m always and never forever alone,
They forged my last sword into a throne,
An unending game I play to atone.

Swirling in my haunted head,
Promises broken, friends misled,
Choosing one, not the other instead,
What have you got to lose?

Only your dreams, your soul and your shoes,
And the brightly coloured thread.

Dressed for Depress

I’ve often been to the edge and back,
It’s now a familiar sight.
This might be why I always wear black,
It feels false to wear anything bright.
Cheerful colour is something I lack,
And I never don anything white,
No sporty wear designed for the track,
Somehow it doesn’t feel right.
I only get things from the discard rack,
To better reflect my plight.

Let’s be outspoken

Every single one of us
Has something longing tries.
That speaks from unseen places,
Within each heart, decries.

No grand proclamations,
No great discourse or mystic word,
But a simple desire
To be understood and heard.

With each attempt to make a sound,
Ten will overcome.
Our melodies defeated,
Our vocal chords undone.

Too oft these sounds are violent,
Compelling gentleness to choke and die.
For each of us that has no voice,
Therein shadows lie.

More fool, I – Hindsight.

I spend so much effort resistin’
Anything that feels like addiction,
Convinced myself I was winning,
While you were addicted and grinning.

Now I’m not so sure,
What I was put here for,
Always avoiding the dance floor,
Avoiding drugs and drink even more.

Got buried in my own sorrow,
Hating being alive,
While you lived life like tomorrow
Would never, ever arrive.

So who was the idiot then?
Happiest way back when
We had the chance to be carefree.
I thought that I could see
Further than you.
Guess I hadn’t a clue.

You seem happier still,
Moreso than I ever will.
Lately I seem to find
Myself in a forest of pines…

My wisdom but a soap bubble

Easier said..

Dreams are easy to achieve,
If dreams are all you want to be.
The sky may be full of Angels,
With just your lonely star,
But if they’re dancing on that pin,
They won’t be going far.
The only way for you to win:
Be more than it says on the tin,
More than you think you are.

Merry whatever…

Well here we are, it’s time again,
The festive season.
Time to hurt the ones we love,
No rhyme nor reason.

An Angel sits atop the tree,
As something to believe in.
Should e’er an angel come to earth,
May my heart unfreeze then.

If we all got gifts our deeds deserve,
Not rewards just for believing,
There’d be no need to wrap them up,
You can’t hide the truth by deceiving.

Good to heaven, bad to hell?
Some have faith,
But some things
You can’t buy or sell.

We all find what we need to believe,
Don’t need a reason.
I only have faith in what I can see,
Enjoy plastic season.

Thanks, Bitch.

I said to my friend ‘Most of the time, I just hate being me. I wish I was someone different.
Do other people have those kind of thoughts, or is it just me that thinks that way?’.

She said ‘No, other people wish you were someone different too.’

Falling With Autumn

I suppose the trees, in retrospect,
I should have attended, my neglect
Of time’s subtle scythe, and due respect
For their reminder; nature always calls,
And she who answers always falls.
A premonition of my future
Abandoned casually by trees
Crying red,
Dying, dead.
Autumn leaves, as they led
Falling echoes of my life,
Fleeting, fled. Underfoot
On which to tread, and I,
Despondent, sighing said:
‘There lies everything,
Don’t by it’s beauty, be misled.
The whole world and all within ends thus:
These dying leaves are us’.

briefly on suicide

I find it somewhat ironic that in society today, when someone suffers greatly from a particular mental illness or malady, that they will go to such lengths to ‘heal’ them.

All kinds of medications and treatments have been prescribed to me.
Many that are illegal in any other context.
Amphetamines, benzodiazapines, anti-psychotics.
Iron infusions, supplements, electrocuting your brain.

They do so much to keep you alive and attempt to make you functional.
Even when they shouldn’t.

Even when it would be so much cheaper and easier to let you die, they still refuse.

But they have no objections about removing your rights, forcing you against your will to continue to exist in constant misery and suffering. To remain alive.
Even when you shouldn’t.

Insomnia pt.2 – Nevermore

So I’m jiggling my legs like some frenetic junkie, waiting for the benzos and codeine to kick in.
It’s one of those nights where despite the warmth of the room, I feel cold inside.
My self hating nihilism is all-prevailing and the certainty that I will never be better, that I am doomed to endure day after day of misery and frustration, clings to me like a cold wet bedsheet.

The experience of staying awake all night, especially 2 or 3 days/nights continuously, not only creeps into joints and muscles as stiffness and pain, but eventually becomes a pressure inside the head, like a clamp crushing upon your brain.
Given enough time, everything about staying awake for extended periods of time becomes unpleasant.

My best efforts to boost my mood upward, to think of positive things, and to convince myself life is worthwhile, such as trying to believe that one day I may be even happy, is met every time now by Poes’ Raven, embedded in my mind, it’s vocabulary no greater now than from it’s famous past.

‘Things are going to get better’, I repeat to myself.
“Nevermore”, comes the inetivetible reply.

‘One day, I will be happy’, I even try to believe it.
The Raven croaks, “Nevermore”.

‘I WILL be happy’, I tell it.
“Nevermore”.

I wonder if it understands double negatives.
‘I will not never be happy’, I offer.
Silence.

In the end, I just return it’s ridicule.

‘I will not never inversely opposite become antithetically unhappy’, I say, although I doubt it will fall for any convolutions of syntax and reply ‘Nevermore’.

The raven just stares at me. I suppose because the raven is a creation in my mind, trying to fool myself when I know the plan, isn’t really very logical.

But logic seems to diminish exponentially as hours continue to pass without sleep.

As does motivation, positivity, and the will to live.

I’m beginning to become so freaked out that I can’t even cry.
I want to, I can feel the tears behind my eyes, but the raw scraping of my nerves won’t let them flow.

A tiny bit less control and I’d probably be laughing maniacally. Panic and lack of reason start burning hot in my chest, a strange counter point to the ceaseless icy chill in my guts.

From experience I’ll still be awake this time tomorrow (5.30am), so there’s always some potentially delusional posts to look forward to.

Insomnia

Some might fall asleep with ease,
Such vanity!
Amost equal to the envy
That graces my every weary breath.
These empty, malicious hours
Will not be filled by mere distraction,
Night demands complete attention.
She will be neither shunned nor ignored,
Tearing into your head like sheets of sandpaper.
Time, ever her gleeful accomplice, slows all,
Until the distance between each minute mark
Surpasses all the great oceans as one.
While confined to a coffee cup,
You keep paddling.

Mental Marionette

There seem so many truths,
Which one do I face?
Which one takes the place
On the pedestal?

When I tried to face them all,
They warned me I would fall;
See me falling.
Trying to pretend
That the song will never end,
But for better or for worse
I think I’m running short of verse.

I can pretend at emotion,
Lip syncing to the song,
But the words are all rehearsed,
And each line is getting worse.
All I feel now is an emptiness,
Just nothingness, maybe less.

An undefined ache
Where I thought my soul should go,
But I’ve always been a fake
And I just put on a show.
So convincingly the act
That I once believed the fact
That I could be a real girl.
But oh, Pinoccio,
I should have listened
To you.

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.

Nothing for me.

Spent three weeks in an unmade bed,
A pounding in my skull,
Repeating thoughts in my head.
Like the lyrics of a song
Singing ‘please let me die before long.’

I’m trying hard to hold on to the act of holding on,
But even now my own mind wants me gone,
So the line I’m holding onto’s not that strong.
The simple problem with this kind of rope, you see,
Is that it’s tethered far too tightly to my sanity.

Maybe if I enjoyed a single moment,
Maybe if I could control or own it,
I’d be happier alive,
Given a reason to survive,
But all I get is non-stop misery.

So fuck me.
No apologies for profanity.
I’m stuck here in my head, wishing I was fuckin’ dead,
Because there’s nothing in this world that I can see,
Nothing for me.
Nothing for me.

The Galaxy Lake

Surrounded by tired clichés,
My mind dies.
Dies again.
A myriad of mortal, mired ways.

As is wont with mind to mend,
I’m drawn to midnight lakes’ embrace.
My freezing, bare-feet thoughtless wend
To every deeper, quiet place.

I forget how elegantly swirling stars
Weave such delicate distractions.
Flickering inside and out
Barely seen refractions.

Starlight floats in darker water,
Gently mesmerising motes.
The lake becoming midnights’ daughter,
Magic and music without notes.

More oft’ my private galaxy,
Calms more than ‘cut’n’bleeding’,
Regardless, tonight my regret remains
Highly caffeinated, thoughts still speeding.

[End pt 1.]

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 at you through.

Am

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

I

See the palette 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.

Have You Seen This Life?

Have you seen my life around?
Now it’s lost,
I have found,
The whole world wanting.

Not pages torn from fairy tales,
Far stranger by many accords,
No songs to make a million sales,
Or plays stepped out on Broadway boards.

But it’s a dizzy, dancing, summer spark,
A falling, flying Meadowlark, and
All those nights spent in the park
Laughing in rain, and wet, and dark.

Also the sharpest knife that ever was,
A blade that has no par.
It has to be that sharp because
It constantly cuts, with ne’er a scar.

Those kind of days are hard to misplace,
Oft’ tattooed upon my face,
There, in ink you can’t erase,
Writ large the tale, my fall from grace.

ForNeverEver

Did you ever never
Stop and ponder whether
If forever is a never
that simply will not die?
Then maybe never is an ever
That was severed from forever
And will eternally endeavour
Wherever, whatsoever,
To reconnect together
From the tragically cut tether
That was in a manner clever,
Keeping ever, never and forever
From being ForNeverEver.

Pencils

15 boxes of pencils, and
Countless pages, and
I’m still trying to write
How I feel about me.

15 boxes empty, and
More notesbooks full, and
I’m still trying to draw
What I want you to see.

Fading

I’m not sure if I forgot
Or have just grown indecisive,
But I can’t really quite recall
Exactly what my life is.
I used to know where I belong.
Used to have a favourite song.
Favourite author.
Favourite food.
Favourite colour.
Favourite mood.
Now I don’t know
What my greatest fear is,
Favourite beer is,
Time of year is,
Or even how deep the lithosphere is..
OK, I never really knew that last one,
Carry on, my wayward son.