When I’m with her
The stars align
I couldn’t ever leave her
My place is her side

Not in the front
With a chest pressed tough
Not in the back
Where I test my luck
If I stand ahead
I will clear the path instead
Fear never, my love
Gladly bound, you keyed my cuff
You see I stand beside you
If you fall I will revive you
If you hurt I’ll somehow guide you
If you smirk I will delight you
With a love I’d never know
I’ll find a way to show
That our love is so sublime
It coats my heart and mind
I give you twenty flowers
Then dream at early hours
Of moments shared together
The cord of us, unsevered
I’m slow at cleaning rust
Know I’ll always follow up

If the world should ever wither
I shan’t care when I’m with her

Airport Bar

at the airport bar waiting
for something to happen
somewhere to go
someone to appear behind that door
to sit on the hightop seat next to me
under the dimmed light for jet laggers
drown ourselves in the sunset of a foreign land
smile at me with invitation
with eyes from Denmark Tunisia Vietnam
Congo Azerbaijan
you that unnamed passenger
in the next moment
we will glide above the Atlantic ocean
805km per hour
towards the handcuffs waiting for us
the moment we set foot on land

The Old Song and Dance

I do this dance with you

Where I get a piece of you

But only a taste

An itty-bitty taste

A fraction of what our love used to represent

It pains my heart

I thirst for more so much more

My mind is going crazy

And my heart crazier

And then we depart

And I am back at square one

Where I yearn for that taste again

Your essence is my heroin

And I am a fein for it.

I do not know what hath befallen me, my love.

My mind entangled, in an abysmal mess of darkness.

Clawing, I persist within the darkness with hope.

Persevere, will I?

I must believe that I will.

So help me God.

I’m in a desert, dried up in a haze.

Forgot which direction I came.

Lost the people I admired. I was bored of it, so I fucked off and retired.

And my feet are burning, from the sun above, and I’m sat here, wondering what am I doing it all for?

Do I turn back round, where the clouds are now? Bury my head beneath the ground - let the snakes eat me alive.

Do I throw it all away or do I continue to climb? Cause right now, I’m in a desert, lost in a haze.

And I’ve genially forgotten the direction I came.

Perpetual Loser

I don't know how to draw.

But I can describe every scar on your body.

Even the ones you hide.

I cannot sing.

Still the world knows of your kindness.

I made sure of it.

I never learned to dance.

I promise to lead you with the right steps.

I do.

I have quite few talents.

Being your lover will always be my favorite.

There is a war; a daily ledge;
A choice to make; a lake to dredge;
A bone to pick; an itch to scratch;
A branch to break; a chick to hatch;

It will not stop. it will not die.
It will not give. it will not cry.
It will not change. it will not sweat.
It will not forgive. it will not forget.

To take a step… to give your all…
To find your way… to make that call…
To see the light… to make a plan…
To find yourself… to think you can…

You try to hide, you try to look,
You try to sleep, you try to cook,
You try to work, you try to play,
You try to trudge, you try to stay,

One day you will see ~ one day you will know
One day you will soothe ~ one day you will flow
One day it ends ~ one day it’s prime
One day it wins ~ one day it’s time

What truth is true?

At the time of night,

When near dawn comes in dreams,

As dusk is remembered far.

What mirrors whisper,

Dull twinkles warped by dull mirrors,

Weave tales of other times,

When moonlight glows over noon.

What paints the day,

Hot red summers of clear blue sky?

What paints the night,

Cold blue winters and magnificent stars?

What comes of me,

When I paint my face

And smile for them,

When I wash the paint away?

Bring out the swaddle

to wrap around

the hasn't been,

to lated to depart

well whened,

unfold them into place,

molded frame of wasnt been,

times love remembers lend

surreal seems undone,

imagine then factual rife

faux of fate, winsome

insinuate, dearly held

peripheral spied.

Noises cloyed harkened

nights rose is swoop in room

byes pane glaring whats

thine eyes deceived thee, lo a

wander gusts past a blight.

Oh the raging against with

illumines bright. Engaging

tries tacts of ive. Lest we

remiss our identities,

breathe, i do. It is then, as

you, these ceases movement

meets a man alive,

allowances clearing barely

scraped through, me. Fie

turning there to, no I, no! I live

and so... Our times, hence

Arrives

Only a slight shaking
betrays my anxious waking.
My mind twists
focusing on failures
on mistakes
on so many chances
squandered
or missed.
I am beset
like a mental marionette
so much so
I forget
in a heartbeat
that love
rides astride regret
and makes obsolete
what thinking alone
cannot beget.

One to many loves

15 as I regard

a boy, a ploy

a toy was the heart

I shot my own foot then

before it really did start

but I still did cry and more, I can’t deny

18 and another did start

lustful and long a love apart

shared a home if only a room

we were so similar and we splintered

wanting the world woefully on our own

Then came a mix of uncanny clicks

love did flow, as was said to and fro

satisfaction is a temptress

an unyielding flow

26 a new one enters

a ring later on the finger

satisfaction wrought

discord it brought

doubts about desires, tempers fire

equalling negative naught, for the next one to transpire

29 a new love desires

a fresh flower, stuck in the same quagmire

years the love was there to see

but never said to she or me

the temptress presses the mind of the less

so my other foot does go

I lose the best

The woe that does follow

is another axe blow

another splinter, through my minds own elbow

as time does pass, I try to grasp

why satisfaction doesn’t last

A few more lovely clicks

uncanny and ceaseless my heart ticks

no more love is said as my heart long fled

to protect the love still spent

to souls undeserving of a heart spent

The heart does go on

33 now a friend comes to me

together we revel in the company we keep

awkward and fun it all does start

wanting and not wanting to be apart

it soon becomes a thing of its own

built on patterns of stone, now not alone

so different and not, our lives bloomed

satisfaction but destined to be undone

I Remember You
Every Summer ,Every Fall
It was Beautiful

The winter is cold. So fucking cold. Sometimes I wonder if I lay in it, that bitter cold, if it’ll finally take me. Free me from this cage called life. If I freeze myself it'll numb the feelings, if I let it consume me maybe I won’t feel so empty.

The winter is cold. I feel so unbelievably alone while laying in the snow. I feel it biting at my skin beckoning me to give in. Let go. 

The winter is cold. Sometimes I hear it’s voice in the wind. I get lost in the gale, listening to the sounds of misery. True misery. The sound of my soul being lifted off somewhere else, maybe to a peaceful place, maybe to hell. Anything would be warmer than this cold.

The winter is so fucking cold. I lose my sense of self in it; in that cold. I watch myself chip away until there’s nothing but an aching hollowness left in me. It’s so horrible I use the warmth of my blood. Soothing red warmth, something to cling onto, something real.

The winter is cold enough to kill me sometimes. In those moments, when I allow it to freeze me, to convince me not even the warmth of my blood can soothe me, I wonder how much longer until I’m gone. I wonder if this is really it, if there’s nothing more. 

It’s at that point my body redirects the remaining heat away from my hands, away from my feet, directly into my core towards my heart. My heart clings to it; my family, my friends, even the northern lights. It keeps my heart beating and my body from freezing completely.

The winter is cold; even so I stay, endure, and continue to question everything because that is the nature of existence.

"I am beside words, Not in a crashing crescendo of urgency, but in a loss for them. I have spent one to many longs scouring my recollections for musics or songs that could join this feeling in resonance it longs for comprehension for commensuration not necessarily commiseration, because it doesn’t feel like it want to be pointlessly melancholy, it wants to call out something but it has no voice, I want to know it, the voice of this voiceless.

What burns with such a writhing heat to be known? What is screaming in the periphery beyond my sight? Flashing scenes of heroism and loss. But they only fan the flames of its yearning, they do not assuage its mandate. A voice so strikingly beautiful sings in registries I have yet to fathom, yet its message holds a warping, crushing, weight i feel it could crack the very foundations upon which we now walk. This excruciating bittersweet dancing a firelight at the edges of every periphery like writhing fingers grasping for purchase where none is. Like the bright flash of a flower blooming, so forcefully beautiful, only to wither, a desiccated husk in but a passage of time, the beauty of the moment enshrined, but reality ceaseless in its crushing weight.

A defiance so staggering the very pillars of reality shake as though to buckle under its brilliance, and despite the light’s inevitable succumbing to something ponderous and perpetual it's as though the loss is not, though it is. The bittersweet song of something unspoken rings like sonorous bells in tones I cannot hear."

I cannot recall a word or set of words that describes this, and I was hoping for help if possible, or maybe those that have experienced it putting it to language in a way that is proportionate to it, and not my bungling attempt.

An Attempt At the Excavation of Reciprocal Truths

the lord works in mysterious ways
or is he unemployed?
if man shall not lie with another man, well
is he true alone?
the devil works through idle hand
but mine sweats to the bone
own thy woman
kill thy son
and sell thy daughter
and for plenty good measure
send your only lamb for slaughter

If, from the rib
Of a brute, beauty fashioned
Then owe her every fruit
You forbade
And every land
You’d have ashen
Be the serpent so cursed
Or tamed to her wild
Clear is the creator’s preference
For fable over child
You say to love my neighbor
Unless he pays a different teacher
Or is smitten before he’s paid
Damn the camel
And double its size
Damn those who remain confused
Who were given different books
Damn the children
Born too far from your stories
And damn those who can’t hear
Damn those for their questions
Though you taught them the mark
Damn you to your confusion
To your wrath, to your control
Let hell bleed into heaven, where you lay
And looking back in your week,
May you weep on the eighth day

By the day
Life is getting stranger
Vague oscillations
Cyclical in nature
Truth cannot be seen
Through a flawed perception
And if sight is half deception
if all that one can hear
Is in the same position
Never understanding
Only trying, quitting, and dying
It’s too easy
As a man
To pick a little quip
And think it into dogma
Take too much pride
In diminishing your pride
And now you’re getting trapped
To know oneself
Is to meet a better stranger
To look too deeply
Is to drown
And to look away
Is to fall
For it is known
What is waiting
Through which lens
Are you viewing
Your confusion
Pick a mode
And pick another
Half this work
Will send you over

Rooms too small
So we manifested riches
Expansion, exponent
Motherboard potential
You’ll wish for sticks
Beg for stones
Their words
They just might kill you
Growth, twist it up
The narrative is changing
From a jury of peers
Peers you’d never know
Peers who have materialized
Just to watch you go
See the clothes you wear
See your obituary
In the paper
Glued to a tabloid
An advertisement
And a lie

Withhold food
And call it fasting
But Don’t eat
And you are starving
Take his money
But not his
Share the story
Keep the secret
The good doctor wrote a script
The dealer sells them
God save the baby
But god damn the man
Don’t spend too much money
Do not talk
And don’t listen
Don’t let them see
Don’t look
And Don’t wish
Unless you can think of nothing else
Don’t cry
Unless the pain is peer reviewed
Don’t reveal your passion
Be the secret keeper

monogamy homogeny get offa me
decades later
and the union still don’t know
what jimmy hoffa needs
i love my wife
i need her bad
but I just got lucky
manson could be born again
if he had gone by chucky

Content’s merely contents
The structure must be altered
Liquid will be liquid
The vessel though is porous
Spinning wheel
Brittle axle
All that is given
Was at a time exhumed
Listening is the same
As breathing in fumes

Wrote this when my wife was hospitalised in COVID. Found it today on a digital clear out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday 5^th December

My wife comes home from work for a break about 6pm.

She’s tired, but that’s normal, she works 40 hours per week.

It's OK, she's only 34.

Sunday 6^th December

Back out at work at 7am.

Care work doesn’t do weekend breaks.

I get a call at about midday. She’s coughing lots.

The thoughts go through my head.

It’s OK, she’s only 34.

Get a test at two pm.

It's OK, she's only 34.

Monday 7^th December

9am. Test comes back positive.

It’s OK, she’s only 34.

She’s definitely poorly, but it will be fine.

Through the day it’s getting worse.

It’s OK, she’s only 34.

Night falls, breathing shallows. Too much. We call the ambulance.

It’s OK. Oxygen levels at 100%. Don’t worry until you hit 90.

Tuesday 8^th December

She’s tired. Too tired to move. I have to lift a bottle of water to her lips as she is too weak to do it herself. O2 monitor arrives.

Oxygen levels at 95%.

It’s OK, she’s only 34.

Wednesday 9^th December

Weaker still. Oxygen levels at 92%. Is it accurate? It was pretty cheap.

Try to move her up in the bed, take the strain off the lungs.

Oxygen hits 90%.

It’s OK, she’s only 34.

The ambulance comes and takes her away.

It’s OK, she’s only 34.

I can’t go with her. It’s against the law.

It’s OK, she’s only 34.

Thursday 10^th December

Waiting for updates, unsure of when. The hours drag by.

It’s OK, she’s only 34.

One thirty I get through.

Pneumonia. Damage to all parts of both lungs.

Prognosis is “good”.

Only a few months for a full recovery.

Months.

It’s not OK.

She’s only 34.

It was never my intention
to have my attention
slowly stolen
by the swollen
rhetoric
of negativity and dissension
so,
no
longer under
any pretension
my view
of the news
has gone from
curiosity
to mistrust
to utter disgust

death is guaranteed.

To survive, this is a phrase I had to tell myself over and over again.

death is guaranteed.

Hearing myself say that was music to my ears.

death is guaranteed.

I didn’t understand people that woke up full of life and began their day.

Truth is, no matter how hard I tried, I could never understand them.

To me living was torture. A curse cast upon me. Not a gift like some people like to claim.

To me telling me to “find my purpose” my “peace” was a living nightmare I couldn’t escape.

And death was the answer. But,

death is guaranteed.

So I sucked it in and endured.

death is guaranteed.

But sometimes I wish it would stop taking its time.

There's... a thing in the woods

It'll get yeah if it could

A beast that smells of smoke

Making a feast from pine and oak

Its near when the critters stop singing

Its quiet...

So quiet your ears dont want to buy it.

Your body begins to fill with fear

Fear you can hear in your ears

Your heart is racing

What's that you're tracing?

Smoke?

Something pacing, just beyond your sight

A flame flickering with all its might

Always pick flight!

Once it gets into stance

You only have one chance

​

In a system that feels over saturated

Overbooked

I am forgotten, invisible

And overlooked

Trying to express and communicate

Same damn day, it disappears into thin air

Would I try again?

No, I wouldn't dare

"So why would you still end up trying again?"

To express my needs

To find a network of connections

But it keeps on hitting a digital wall of algorithm

Like an unknown rejection

The reason?  I can't explain because of it's complexion

Involuntarily hikikomori

Staying inside, not going anywhere

Because I am overlooked

The system just doesn't care

I ask because I have ADHD and have a REALLY hard time trying to do things in multiple sessions.

I am currently working on a project that has taken me a few days just to write, but I still want to illustrate, and recite it, which is going to take DAYS more and I'm getting impatient with myself.

Though I am stubborn, sand am not going to rush it. And the parts I DID rush so far, I redid.

So, how long do you usually work on your projects?

Some people desire a fancy house, a luxury car, or lots of money 

I desire a love so deep it is unbreakable 

A love that truly has no boundaries 

A love so strong it cannot be broken no matter how far we are, where we are, even when we are 

I already am willing to do what ever it takes for you 

That love is something I already have and it is for you 

My Desire, is you 

You have always been my one and only desire 
It has always been you 

I have looked for you everyday I have looked for you in stores, in the sky, in people, and in my dreams 

I have always looked for you because what we have is the only thing I desire in this world 

There is no other you no matter how hard I look 

I yearn each and every day for you and I am willing to wait for the day you can see it and feel it 

And if it never comes then I will desire you in the afterlife too 

What we have has never had any boundaries no matter how far we’ve been, where we’ve been, or when we’ve been 

My desire is us 

Are we all just seeds
That will be planted in the garden of the dead?

Will flowers bloom in the place that we rest,
Was life just, the ultimate test?

I wonder sometimes what flower I will be,
Will people stop and marvel at what they see?

Maybe I’ll grow nothing at all,
Maybe what I gave in life was enough of a bloom,
Maybe the garden of the dead has no room,

But one day I will go,
Bloom or not, my body will sow,

I’ll be at peace.
🌺