Tuesday, 21 June 2011


I've run from the reaper and become more than my sum
left shadows on the sun connected infinite seats to bums
put gallows in my lungs where every guilty breath gets hung
Run from the reaper I'm only twenty one. 
He can catch me when I'm done
not when there are so many songs unsung
so many wars yet- won and throw to the throne
I run from the reaper but i run too fast
onto my second lap he waves when i pass

Old, true, but, yeah. Still.

how does others art help us? how do anthers words hep us know who we are? i write and, and, it doesn't help. maybe its because don't like my thoughts or do not trust myself, im yet to really be myself but, are others words more me than i am?
things are weird. things are in every thing. but every thing is just a thing. a diamond ring. a wooden one. a plastic lunchbox with the power rangers on it to look at your tv and see a speeding 2D sonic puts my pulse up a notch.
I love everything i am but then wish i could be everything im not keep reminding myself it's just a thing. the sound of a class bell ring. the sound of a glass clink. to hear a person sing who technically can't but still makes a connection because you hear each word in it's purest most thought out beautiful form, take note, you don't need notes to sing. not for me. not when i saw him live for the first time, all my money spent to see an old man's frail fingers create a tune that's timeless.
let my letters lie. lay on broken beats that spoke volumes through a heart so strange bumped me two times then sat in a cage fighting for more, some wine to put two and two time together i swim under the harmonica that plays me out. sometimes all i want to do is shout. for. for .for . myself. to come out. I'm so mellow I couldn't punch a pillow throw my bones out the window scrunched up im a man with insides but i still put my hand through my chest and feel nothing. no heart. no soul. if there was anything to say i would have said it already. hollow. i've eaten aplenty. i stuck my head out the door and saw a storm coming my way. I'm not. heavy. I'm just. I'm. trying. as hard as i can.swim fast through the storm head under water come out a man. believe im for the cause six fire tiger im heavy at the doors

Monday, 6 June 2011

The past four months.

The past four months
I've done more than dreamt,
and talked more than slept,
acknowledged my regrets,
and now it's over i reflect
how my love isn't mine yet
and wonder if I've got anything wrong
while i stare at this laptop screen
at the very hight of my popularity, alone.

It started like all my nights now seem to, at a show.
I told an audience my best-written love poem,
and everyone looked me like my heart had broken
and women flocked to me with a shoulder to cry on
yet I ended up talking to the most together woman-
she wore a flannel shirt and had a stylish haircut
(you know the one)
I asked for her name
She said it was lost.
a part of herself
she failed to pick up
when collecting fragments
of her broken heart.
So fittingly enough,
Her name is now lost.
I joked, like, who's on first.
On cue, she laughed
but I knew it was forced
and it's what made me wonder
if she didn't fine me funny
why would she be talking to me?
It prompted a look round
and saw that all my friends were now poets,
all attempting to find out what love is
and all of them begrudgingly on fifth drafts
or even worse, like I was, on their firsts.

So we both took each other with acceptance
yet both tried too hard, laughed, joked too much
it was only when we were silent the cards weren't up.
and no words were spoken on our laptops
just written secrets that'd have me reveal potentially too much
if she didn't tell me as much, it never was love
but it brought a part of myself i thought wouldn't come out.
that I'd meet someone i'd again actually care about.

Like a fool I forgot, her name was lost.
and her old name was with her old flame
and she wouldn't change in the hope that if he came
she'd still be the same. Couldn't help but relate
as it seemed when it came to love we shared the same fate-
losing a love too soon and all love since had been too late
yet in my naive state I thought if she could be saved,
If she could be happy, maybe there'd be hope for me.

with every poem, every love letter, every sexy tea drinking video,
a message about how alone she felt would swiftly follow.
with every kick from this heartbroken bull I'd try harder to not let go.
And to an extent it worked, I managed to make myself stronger
because I think in a lot of ways I had been strong for her,
yet it's ironic how getting close ended with my feelings hurt.
I'm scared of what I'll become, a stand up guy that gets stepped on
or one who never got the chance to step up.
A man who loses his mind when following his heart,
but what's really the loss when you're
documenting the most fun productive four months of his life
and next month saying it was the five.
As for the first time in a long time I finally feel alive.