I am listening to the bray of my heart and I am,
I am, ok.
I am eating breakfast as if it were my last and not feeling the slightest bit elated.
I am a man in baggy black workwear on the tube annihilating a bag of family sized popcorn
I am listening to your words and wishing I could adhere
I am living my days to the fullest and hoping
I am waiting for a train that hopefully will never turn up
I am wondering if it’s possible I will feel this way forever, and if so, I am feeling hopeless.
I am staring at your smug pouting mouth and knee highs whilst wishing you adversity; unfortunately
I am wishing ill upon all as I reach three-day-hangover territory.
I am wishing I hadn’t seen you today using the tone that only I can stop you employing.
I am staring into space and asking myself repeatedly, what am I going to do now?
I am still the reindeer stood coyly at the buffet table.
I am trying.
Cocaine come down In the middle of May
Bring the sweet release now
there is no point
It’s feeling better already
Mummy can you cradle me
I am wearing a masculine shirt with socks and sandles and I am not giving a flying fish cake no matter how stupid that sounds.
I am thinking about you in a Canada Goose jacket and nothing else.
Where is my ability to think straight when your body is near mine and we are reaching for the kettle?
Is it possible for two people to make a cup of coffee together in exactly equal measure?
I am looking out the window at the rain and thinking about your wet-look hair.
I wish the last time we fucked we weren’t listening to Placebo. I wanted you to think about your hands around my throat instead of your seventeen year old daughter. That’s how hard becomes soft.
I am the wet flannel that slipped off your towel rack.
The drifting smell of freshly cut hedges
And the inconsistent whir of a strimmer
Is a happy family, to me.
The colourful blooming flowers
Cooing of pigeons and sun streaming through a crack in the blind
Is a time when I was living.
Well I never!I never have seen a man run like that.
Oh, sour puss.
What fills you with hatred now?
You skulk around
Bury your head
Think of days gone by
Lift your eyes
Try not to cry.
Has your childish abandon deserted you?
Where is that now?
Mouth turned down
Staring straight through the molten turgid ground.
People will say
You remember her right?
She was the one who always looks miserable.
The joy-kill bunch of bones and
You’ve forgotten what excitement feels like.
We stood up and measured ourselves against everything we could find. We measured the tips of our fingers to the points of our elbows and compared them to the panels in the wooden doors, lining them up precisely; edging palms up, straightening each ulna. We took the edges of each eye and we spun and spun until we knew exactly how many Mississippi’s it took eye to eye around the backs of our living minds. How tall are you compared to this fern? Here, let me place your finger in the crack of the wooden floorboard. It’s but a fingernail wide; the baby, that is. Where is your nose in relation to this light switch? We compared ourselves to the world and this we did every Sunday; Our only way to distinguish between life and death.
The mighty catfish sunk to the floor
It sunk so far it could go no more
And then one day it saw the light
Saw the light and decided to fight.
It raised one whisker up from the sea bed
Raised it way, way above it’s head.
It said, “Hey World, I think it’s time
To stand up and to take what’s mine!”
And sooner or later it was flying high
Flying high in the media industry up in the sky.