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