you’re too young to die.

dad said something about us all being stardust
so maybe that’s you now?
or maybe you’re swirling.
i want to believe in something other than darkness forever.

i imagine you as a feeling
i imagine you as the feeling of sudden elation
you’re synapses
you’re things i’ve not even heard of.

you’re the smell of babies and fresh hedges
you’re my heart feeling like it’s about to explode with sadness
you’re my chest expansion
you’re your accidental death and my wish more than anything to rewind time and say, “please, don’t”.

you’re the empty voids i stare into now while i experience elevated existentialism
you’re my life changed forever
you’re too young to die.


animals bounding.

standing in the crockery isle crying in Sainsbury’s
i can’t even begin to think about Christmas
or the reality of a wasp breaking out of it’s cockroach host.

we all get ill, Mary
from time to time
sometimes we don’t know how long it goes on for
and sometimes we die
but everything looks different from the top of a double decker bus
if that’s any consolation?

i wrote a list of joyous things so i could read them over and over:
animals bounding
animals bounding on trampolines
but nothing quite as rousing as a gradient sky
blue to white and back again

now then! it’s a proper pickle, this
a doctor-doctor untangling predicament
too many arms atop locked hands
too many limp squealing bodies

and where’s my man on the ground:
my Paul Rudd on the floor?
with his dirty river of diamond rings
flushed right down the plughole

Daniel won’t even eat anything with a face
so what are we to do about anything now?

Stardust (draft 1)

Another night in the Midlands after a heavy weekend of drugs

and you are there to catch me in fresh bed linen, a square meal and cups of tea in bed.

Reminds me – You were there to catch me when I learned to ride a bike. One hand a foot behind my back.

Very little is said about the past, now we talk about the future.

You bring it up like it’s around the corner, crack open another bottle of gin and talk about big things like we’re going down in a plane crash.

Listen, I still can’t bring myself to tell you how much heartache you caused while we bounced between three houses more than a decade ago.

When you disappeared we scooped her up, brought her back from the edge and guided her back to the light.

You’re welcome.

In my experience people who talk about death feel it coming

Feel it’s weight heavy on the brain.

You cried once when you had cancer

Even those who struggle to open up do one day

What’s it really worth now anyway?

At some point in the future you’ll just be stardust.

You’ll be chairs, paper, hair follicles, cotton; twinkling, burning, drifting. Ephemeral.

I look around the living room and feel weightless on the sofa.

You gulp down the remainder of your gin and switch the TV on.

Brian Cox and his Wonders of the Universe

As we watch the swirling beautiful world in silence

You turn to me and say,

“We are all stardust. You. Me. That sofa. Everything.”


I am on the train home and I haven’t even begun to think about how to tell my dad I had an existential crisis, quit my job and plan to coast around until I have only enough money to spoon beans into my arid mouth. 

Imagine telling god you wish not to exist.

Imagine meeting your maker.

Dad, I’ve lost my shit and I sort of don’t give a fuck either.

Together We Are Wider Than Anything.

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.

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.

But I’ve always been an angry drunk.

It’s frustrating. Like the reoccurring dream where I try to remove a garment and it snaps back on. Don’t you get it? I just want to remove my dungarees.

There are questions inside of questions. Tiny questions hiding inside big questions like why do I exist like this and should I eat less meat? I shout the questions to the abyss and nothing comes back. I am Zack Braff, Peter Sarsgaard and Natalie Portman. I am shouting in the rain in a bin bag.

And every day it’s total annihilation. Drunk and sad and sex with married men and drugs and shrugging and 2am messages to the man who never, ever, loved me. And I’m empty and I’m lost and I wish it were a game of hide and seek. I just want to be found. But I’ve always been an angry drunk.