“Why do you write?” He said
The words echoing in my head
Why wouldn’t I ? Why wouldn’t I ?
To let you in
Or keep you out ?
Do I write to shout ?
Look at me. LOOK at me.
Is that why I set pen to pages
To last through the ages?
For this ?
A few words casting only a few sparks.
No Heaney or Shelley
No Wordsworth or Keats.
No wins or defeats
Just me. Just me.
Just a word without the S to make it sharp.
Doctor Imposter in a shower of pain
Always the rain.
But what would I do without it ?
Where would my soul go if not to fill a gap among the many lines.
So I write to fill up a space.
Both inside and outside
I always have and I hope I always will.
Hear ye, hear ye !
It’s midnight madness at the house of the damned.
Time to set your clothes on fire and don the filligree garments woven by spiders and embellished by unholy light.
Sparkle and weave your way into the night.
Black roses will beckon you at the door
No need to hold secrets to your skin.
Sin. Sin. We all have here.
Bring all your crazy wishes to the floor
And spin with them awhile.
Let loose the laughter that you once stopped through gritted teeth
The inappropriate guffaw you hushed at the funeral pyre
There is no need to dim desire.
You’re at your Aunty’s so to speak
Crying is for the weak.
The gutteral screams of loss and despair
Hold no flair.
Put them aside at the witching hour
The moonlight will bring forth your power
It’s all, not nothing here
Have no fear.
Time is not a line nor is it fine.
It has a spherical elegance that is hinted at throughout the universe
Such is our curse.
Blind to the now and here.
The sphere. The sphere.
Nevermind my dear
Your eyes have not yet adjusted to this new world.
It’s brave and so are you.
All it takes is a run and a skip.
Calling all “chickens and cowards”
Calling all those who are afraid
Calling all who lie awake at night
And who sleep through the day
It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok.
I am you. You are me.
We may never be free.
We may never walk unshackled in the meadows
Jump off the cliff into the sea.
That’s ok. That’s ok. That’s ok.
But you are reading me.
And I am reading you.
We don’t need constant light
To write. To right. To write.
So put down the whip you use on your back
The one that tells you , you are not good enough
Put down the app that makes you feel you are not living your best life
You are living.
Day by day. Minute by minute. Second to second.
You are a warrior. Fighting your own war.
The fear you feel is not your fault
Do not go gently into the vault
Take it. Wield it. Continue to fight.
If all else fails..
Bring me cider and crisps
And those little biscuits I love
I want to sit by the river
And drink like we used to.
Run your fingertips up my arm
Just to the top of my shoulder
Each day getting bolder
And kiss like we used to.
Let the sun burn my neck
What the heck ?
I was destined to leave either way.
Let us lie side by side
In the meadow deep and wild
Look me in the eyes and pretend we have forever
Just like we used to.
Please, like we used to.
I am aeons old
Memories fall over me that are sourced beyond this lifetime.
I have seen the shadow and shade of a million sunrises and of a billion dawns.
I walked with mammoths and swam in the first trickle of what you now pour down your throat.
When I close my eyes I have leagues and legions to keep my tired mind awake.
I am older than you can ever begin to imagine.
But only because I remember.
I remember it all.
The clang. The pressure. The bang.
I was here but so were you.
You changed. I changed.
Form and format.
Sulphuric air to liquid lair then beautiful solid shapes.
Soon I will be plasma but I won’t forget your eyes.
The anchor to my every life.
In each tick of a meaningless second
In an infinity of moments
I am yours.
All shapes. All matters. All ways.
I mourn the flesh of her
The weighty warmth of smooth limbs on my back
The delicate scent of hair in my mouth.
I miss the teeth of her.
The laugh she kept for me
The languid repose of her on a Sunday morning.
I miss her mind of course
But it is the flesh of her that leaves its searing emptiness in my soul.
I hug a pillow but it gives beneath my touch
And it is cold.
I wonder is she cold too ?
I close my eyes but all I see is bone. Bones.
The smooth skin going,going. Gone.
It’s all wrong. Without her.
Why do my lungs not give up ?
I think my heart has.
You won’t live forever.
No one is made for all those eyes
Boring into the soul of you
So that all you are is a fragment
Of what you once were.
You can only go downhill
Compete with the old you.
The face at least.
Because they won’t see your growth
Just the lines etched on your skin
And your desperate attempts to plump them out.
Make yourself stay in the light.
For who are you really when the screen is off?
When no one is looking?
Soon they won’t care and you will have to answer that question.
All on your own.
Have you grown?
Or are you just over the hill?
Just promise me you won’t be cruel
When the time comes to sever these threads
You won’t turn us to shreds.
I look at your face as I lie on your chest
And hope for the best.
But I’ve done this before
And the cut was pure gore, sore.
Please. Please. No more.
So be gentle as you are now
When you lick my leg
Make me beg.
Promise that when you no longer long for this touch
That when I don’t mean much
Just promise you’ll be kind.
And I promise I won’t linger
I won’t be a loser
If I have proper closure.
Originally posted Sept 2017
I will not let these four walls rule me
So that a speck of dust becomes the fulcrum around which my lonely life pivots.
I will not shine this prison until it gleams
Because then only stains will come.
I will keep gazing out the window
Hoping that it’s not the end for me.
That there must be more than never-ending folding
I refuse to gape a wide toothy grin when you come in,
Hint at perfection to distract from cracks that appear in corners.
I will be blemished and brave
So take me as I am.
Just take me.
Out of here. Out of fear.
These walls are made of sturdy bricks
And I am already plastered.
Your looks will fade my love
And all the endless preening will come to naught
I was once like you
In other flames, my comfort sought
I let my fire dwindle while I stoked theirs.
And danced like a dervish and whirled through their stares.
Slow it was, the creeping decay
Which turned copper to rust
Grass to hay.
Until one day they looked no more.
And my inner workings were merely gore.
Left uncared for … my brain did rot
And thus it is….my unhappy lot.
So dance my pretty
I’m not saying no
But keep your inner fire burning
Because your looks will go.
Originally posted May 2017.
You didn’t see the blemishes, You didn’t feel the bumps
The bristles, the lumps
You skim your tongue over me
As if I were made of milk
Lapping at silk
All the parts I hated
Berated over the years
Are smoothing me over
Like a brand new shape
A perfect sculpture
And I’m beginning to think
I’m not all that bad
I’m beginning to think..
Her skin was perfect… pristine.
I imagined her having sex.
Perfect and perfunctory..
There would be no wobble.
She would be loud from the throat but not the gut.
Did she sweat I wondered?
She sipped on water and chewed on lettuce.
How sad I thought.
I turned away to gaze at the ducks.
Calm on the surface.
She seemed stagnant to the core.
A child tripped over, sprawled on the floor.
Miss perfect’s lips turned up at the edges.
A splendid,slow sneer,slithered across her face.
I saw malice in those cerulean blues
And felt a chill in my blood.
And pity.So much pity
For a world that trusts perfection.