Friday, 23 December 2011

9 Days After 19

The sun may shine, but in my world – rain.

The world may turn, but to a halt mine strains.

The flowers may bloom, to me they wilt.

I live in ruins, where a city is built.

The world may laugh, I do but cry.

People bubble with life, I could die.

Some find a partner to love, I’m left to lone.

They will stand high whilst I’m down below.

The dejection I feel, the desolation I gain.

I could spew to the thought of the life to my name.

My body feels tired, my head empty of thought.

What power on Earth these feelings could have brought?

My life it feels spent, though I’m still in my teens.

The ‘time of my life’, I know not what it means.

Rain keeps on falling in the view from my room.

An end to my life could never come too soon.

You may scorn at my words, find humour in me.

But to me, this is real, no humour I see.

The world brought me up, and, is dragging me down.

In a ‘sink or swim’ case then I know I would drown.

The isolation I have, incomprehension my name.

Day after day the sadness remains the same.

My feeble body must rest as I down to lie.

And, if I should sleep, then I hope I will die.

The Fear Of Falling

So, is this the fear of falling, the fall which I’ve so often feared?

And, is this feeling of emptiness, one to which I am to revere?

And, is that my friend The Grim Reaper, staring me in the face?

And, are the feelings I have now, destined to be commonplace?

And, if this life thing is easy, why do I want to escape?

And, if my appointment with life came, just when did I become late?

This loneliness that I encounter, is one I can do well without.

These feelings of depravation, I seem to know too much about.

So, this is the fear of falling, this is the fall that I feared.

These are the cries for assistance, the tears I’ve been crying for years.

Wednesday, 7 December 2011


Josephine, I liked how you sent me flowers,

because, girls don’t usually send those gifts.

The vase is still there, the flowers have now wilted,

they’re my sole material memory of you.

I’m unshaven for fifteen days or thereabouts.

My hair is matting, my armpits they reek.

I haven’t moved from this chair for what seems a lifetime.

I haven’t watched the TV to which I’m always attached.

Josephine, you cannot realise my remorse –

I didn’t mean to drive all that fast.

Seatbelt unfastened, you flew through the windscreen –

I watched, gawping, silent, as your young life shot past.

Sunday, 4 December 2011


Kiss, these lips, of a man who has long passed his prime.

Caress, and re-juvenate, remind him of the time,

his eyes met yours, and in love he fell long and deep.

Re-kindle, the lost love, which for so long has remained asleep.

Saturday, 3 December 2011


I grip your throat
Hold the cold steel to your skull
See life pulsing on your temple
Beads of sweat on your forehead
My finger twitching on the trigger
I salivate
Sweat on my palms
My heart beats fast, faster, so fast
My throat pounds
My finger twitches
Your pupils dilate
You shudder in terror
I tighten my grip
Put this weapon in your mouth
You wince
You squeal
My finger twitching (pull the trigger)
You fall

Sweet Rose

My sweet Rose
Mon cherie
Did you want to kiss me?
Did you want me to leave?

Your place
Your home
I didn’t mean to leave my heart
where I should only leave my money

You take me
You fuck me
You leave me
to decompose

Whilst I pay:
You’ll always be mine
Your thoughts are mine
Your body is mine
Your soul is mine

And when I’m gone:
My feelings remain
My love grows stronger
My heart beats faster
for my beautiful whore

Friday, 14 October 2011

Ma Douce Rose

Ma douce Rose
Ma cherie
Vous vouliez m'embrasser?
Vous vouliez que je parte?

Votre endroit
Chez vous
Je n'avais pas l'intention de laisser mon coeur
La ou je devais laisser seulement mon argent

Vous me prenez
Vous me baisez
Vous me laissez
Me decomposer

Tant que je paye:
Vous serez toujours la mienne
Vos pensees sont les miennes
Votre corps est le mien
Votre ame est la mienne

Et quand je pars
Mes sentiments ne changent pas
Mon amour se developpe plus fort
Mon coeur bat plus rapidement
Pour ma belle putain

Monday, 22 August 2011


I sit here alone

Alone, here I sit

The silent phone

My impenetrable wit

My insufferable muse

My existence forlorn

I long to abuse

my despicable form

This stubborn old mule

has nothing to give

This wretched sad fool

has no reason to live

The New Year Eve time

crawls beyond midnight

My paranoia benign

never gives up the fight

Alone, here I sit

I remain here alone

To misery I commit

In life’s game, a pawn

Thursday, 23 June 2011

Goodnight Vienna

It's barely 15 minutes since I found his body there
Slouching on the settee with a vomit induced stare
An empty prescription bottle sticking to his clammy hand
and half a dozen tablets scattered round like grains of sand
A crisp manila envelope sealed with little haste
'To Whom It May Concern' inscribed upon its face
As I stooped to pick it up I swear he smiled at me
I knew, at last, he'd arrived upon the place he yearned to be

The letter read:
'If you've found this note you're too late to say goodbye
If you're reading this then I've already left your life
If you're stood there wondering why I've done what I have done
the answer is life and all it brings, and, what I've left undone
Please pass on all my love to the girl I love the most
Tell her I'll watch over her with Father, Son and Holy Ghost
And one more thing - before you think that you can save my life
is that everything I have I leave to the boys and my humbled wife'

Now as I look down on his form I know I will not cry
I will not wince, I will feel no pain, I will not question why
I will instead be happy that he is at peace at last
That his troubles and his worries are now all in the past
He often told me that he felt he was destined for greater things
that the life he had was difficult with all the hurt it brings
and I know now what he meant when said under his breathe -
"Media vita in morte sumus” (in the middle of life we are in death)

Wednesday, 18 May 2011

Mentalists R Us

Anyone that suffers from depression knows that it’s shit.

I don’t know why I get depressed, when I have no reason to do so. I have a beautiful caring wife, four great children and a job that I enjoy (most of the time). I have a lovely home, and, family and a few friends that love me. But, I still get depressed.

I have an excellent diet, I sleep well, and I get a good amount of fresh air. I have a good laugh at Twitter. I love a good comedy on the television. I still get depressed.

I appear happy most of the time. Covering up depression is a gift that we Mentalists possess.

I’m sure I am not a ‘bad’ case. I gave up taking fluoxetine towards the end of 2006 after 12 months. I asked the Doctor how I would know it was ok to come off, he replied I should just “try it and see”. I did, and I felt ok, but I do worry about one of the side effects being ‘suicidal tendencies’! Great.

I haven’t been myself for two and a half weeks now, I sink, and then just when I’m climbing out of the hole, I seem to get dragged back down again. I have no reason to do so. It just happens. Let me reiterate, I want for nothing in my life – even my negative Bank balance doesn’t overly concern me!

I got up this morning feeling as I did yesterday, lonely. I’m not, but it’s how I feel. I don’t know why, I just do. I purposely picked a cd to play in the car on the way to work, which I thought may pick me up. I played it at the highest volume my ears could withstand, even though I always criticise ‘boy racers’ for doing the same. I found myself shouting instead of singing, and, it seemed to offload a little bit of my pain.

Pain is what it is. I feel as though I’m a failure to my friends and family, though when I think about it, I know I haven’t done anything. Is it selfishness? Writing this blog helps a little. I feel like screaming, and, I may lose my temper at work today. If I remain quiet, I will get through to hometime which is when I start to feel better. I love my family dearly, but, worry what they may think about my behavior – my wife is very understanding, and, can be an irreplaceable comfort. Sometimes I feel like crying.

It’s a shitter this depression stuff. For me, and, for anyone else that suffers. I try to get on with life, but, sometimes, some days, are difficult. The last ones have been some of those.

Mentalists R Us.

Tuesday, 17 May 2011


My first 'blog'.

I'd like to do more of this, but, I just don't seem to have the time. Or, more importantly, anything worth writing about.

This debut blog might seem like a waste of space, but I'm pissed off reading about it and want to get it off my chest.

I like Twitter, I've met some cracking people and had a fucking good laugh at times. I've found some Celebrities that use it as self-promotion, and, the odd few who actually reply to numpteys like me.

Some stuff really gets on my tits though, like the recent 'Keith Chegwin steals jokes' crap. Ed Byrne is a tosser. To say Cheggers stole a joke is bollocks - how do you steal a joke? What Mr Byrne meant to say is that Keith told a joke he'd heard before. He then wants Keith to acknowledge who told it. Arse! Does Wayne Rooney acknowledge Maradonna if he scores a goal with an overhead kick? Course he fucking doesn't. Do Reeves and Mortimer thank Morecambe and Wise after every TV performance. Course they don't. Does Lee Evans have a rider in his tour programmes saying thanks to Norman Wisdom?

I rest my case.