Ploughing the sea

An effort in misfortune instantly springs to mind
A hope preserved in glass seeking only false lies
Dreams will grow and die in the heads
Of all the advocates swept out to sea
This ocean of dreams will drown us all
Your stars will shine
Few souls stir in the land of success
Seeking but a moment of rest
Perhaps they were better off dead
For the demons of this failing cause
Come not to the damned
Rather to float in the anguished abyss
Than pray for merciful release
Bodies line the shore but your stars will always shine
Wrap me in tendrils and show me the deep
An exercise in failure condemned me
This dream was breakable
Your stars will shine, your stars will shine.


(I wrote this when I was sixteen, hence why it's a bit different from everything else)

I idle, waiting

Hello, are you there?
I can't hear you

A damaged line
Perhaps
Or more just,
Distance

Fewer words
Lesser thoughts
Wanting more but simply
Stuck

Neuron tricks
The usual waste of time
Always here
Not sure of you
Or myself

I idle, waiting
For a resurrection
A change
Or a clear signal

Hello, are you there?
I can't hear you

Extract from "Paper Birds"

The voice of a friend, from a stranger's mouth
While I figure out, what it's all about
Lost in wide streets, dead on our feet
Searching for heights that we know we can reach

A city by the sea

Little john went to the shore
To see all the ladies, riding on boards
An old man came and took him away
Old man Ocean, he stays the same way

Mother Mary came to me, asking what was meant to be
But I didn't know what to say, so I just sent her on her way
Joseph came the very next day, asking what he was meant to say
To a wife, who'd never belong to him

Dressed in white, she went to the ball
Dressed in envy, were all those who saw
The light shining from her, tiara crown
That light still shines on now, but down in the ground

Star cross'd lovers, went strolling through town
Not looking for trouble, but surely they found
A man who wanted, to watch the world burn
A man who wanted, nothing returned

We searched for days for these lost souls
But nothing came of my broken toes
Nothing more than lines drawn in the sand
Mothers asked me what went wrong
Fathers came to sing this song
No ones knows what happened to this land

This once great land
Now lines in sand
This once great land
Now nothing more than my, great lines in the sand

The douche bag laundry romance (A novelty)

Shet sits, he stares
In the heat of the moment he decides he can dare
To converse with the girl with the bright blonde hair
In the drier overheard, spins his underwear

A curious way to start a romance
Dirt and clothes do an infinite dance
Of detergent and heat, does he stand a chance
When all he wants is to get in her pants?

Stories of travel and an ego smile
Shit, this guy is so full of denial
A cashmere top and a face so infantile
Joy of the latter as we stare all the while

He thinks he's scored, and with a stuck up grin
He looks all around, to see if his win
Has been noticed by those of the same sex as him
I sat there and watched, this spectacle so grim

The girl makes to go, but lo and behold
This boy is so desperate he stoops down below
The line of good conduct, as he tries to slow
The departure of a girl he doesn't even know

A loss, she's left, the conversation's gone stale
As she walks away the boy's face turns so pale
His ego is smashed and it's time to bail
So long douche bag, that was a right epic fail

10

40 weeks
280 days
I used to think that was a long time

Give me a year
Give me two
It's still not enough

I always want more

More time to touch
More time to breath
More sensation

Pull me away
I'll go running back
Why would I want just half of myself?

Those eyes
That smile
"That's grim"

My front seat is yours
So lets drive away
Please, lets not go home

40 weeks
280 days
3 words

Extract from "A letter, a goodbye, a thanks."

So this is me, who I have become, who I am. This is you, as you always have been, or so far as I know. Strange, that the two, so unrelated and parallel, two lives constantly living for years on end with no interaction whatsoever, could so quickly collide and escalate, into everything. Thank you, before all else thank you. This time has given me all I needed, this time has given me myself, and you have undoubtedly played your part, handed it to me in nothing more than a plastic bag and cello tape...

Dune

There was a young boy from a near by tribe, sitting atop one of the numerous sand dunes that spread like golden creases of silk across the desert. He was not a particularly striking young man, dressed solely in a white robe that hung to his ankles. The boy looked starved. His face was thin and fallen. The eyes were sunken into their sockets, as if afraid to look out and truly see the world. His frame was next to none, it was a miracle he had the energy to reach the crest of this dune, looking out across the plains. The drought had succeeded in taking all the people’s water from them, it stole their life source, so that now the crops did not grow and the animals died. There was barely enough to keep them alive themselves. He stood there, wondering silently to himself, the words forming mute shapes on his lips, “How long until we are taken as the animals have been? How long until we are claimed? ”
When the boy turned he could see his small village below him. No longer did the youngsters scuttle between the huts. No longer did the men go out to hunt for food. His people, his family, simply sat on the floor, under trees, in any shade they could find. All energy focused on survival.
He did not know what had driven him to climb the dune. There was nothing up there and the trek used up a large amount of the precious little energy he had.
He sat, staring across the plains.
No animals were to be seen, all moved on to more forgiving climates, places where the water was bountiful and sweet.
“What”, thought the boy, “what am I looking for, here above the plains?”
The deathly silence of an empty desert was his answer.
For hours he sat there, consumed within his mind on thoughts of all manner of things. Wondering why God, or whatever force it was that caused the stars to shine, had chosen to punish him in such a way. Life perplexed him. Why pray for water when you have never seen the rain?
The boy stood. A slight breeze whispered about his robe as he took one long stare towards the horizon. He ran.
Clumsily he lumbered down towards the plain, a sudden explosion of energy within his chest. The sand was blistering on his feet, his temples pulsing so hard that his vision blurred. As he stumbled he caught his knees and ankles on the jagged rocks, staining his robe with blood. He noticed none of this, one firm idea, one glorious wonder fixed within his mind. He reached the edge of the flatlands and still he ran. It seemed as though he would soon outrun the very wind that tried in vain to hold him back. For what seemed like an eternity, the boy carried himself forward, until finally, in the middle of the plains, surrounded on every side by nothingness, he stopped, and turned his head to the sky.
It was true, what he had seen on the horizon was not his parched mind creating a false reality, not a simple costruct of his human psychi. The grey clouds over head rumbled in reply to his gaze. Arms outstretched, palms turned skywards, the boy knew, he realised what he had been waiting for on the dune, somehow he knew what lay in store.
For finally, the rain had come, and maybe there was a God.

Slightly Changed

I'm so close to breaking down
So far from home
Wanting you to open the door
Waiting for nothing more
Than to lie by your side
In the sweet sunshine
Living our lives
On our own
Taking my time, you pass me by
Laying down, in the sweet sunshine

Blowing smoke into the air
You pass me by, you pass me by
Having the times of my life
You pass me by, you pass right on by
Living up to your expectations
Is nothing new, because it's all you
Knowing your secret intentions
It's all you, because nothing is new

Transformation is gradual
Time is taken oh so slow
Well it's all me now
I'm on my own
But that's okay now
Because I stand tall
There was no great revelation
I am the same man just slighty changed

Down by your side in the sweet sunshine
Taking my time you pass me by
Down by your side in the sweet sunshine
Taking my time you walk right on by

I am the same man just slightly changed

Fighting Foxes

You’re screaming drunk down the phone as
I’m stood here alone
Watching these foxes fight.
I hate to see some likeness
In the way that they scream
On this cold October night.
As these words fall forth that
We don’t mean
And the heat starts to rise
Due to what we’ve seen
Its taking me down like
A baseball bat
Because no one can make me
Cry like that.

Stop saying those words
You know what they do
Stop saying that curse
This isn’t you.

So here I am
Stood here beneath these withering trees
Its all I can do not to
Fall to my knees
I say these things that
I don’t mean
As I picture us on a TV screen
My heart starts to race as it all goes wrong
My mind set loose at the thought of you gone
You’re so resolute and it scares me to death
Because no one can make me
Cry like that.

I write it all down just
So you know
I got it all wrong and I need to show
That this isn’t what I meant it to be
Looking up at these deep brown leaves
My stomach is sick as I go to bed
As I don’t know what
Is in your head
I pray to God, that I saw recently
Wishing that you will come back to me
No one can make me cry like that

Campus

Concrete and mud
Glass and herbs
A space to live and a space to think
Within the confines
Of our ever decreasing means

A constant noise
The whine
The bump
The moan
The infinite inhabitants, oblivious
To a world beyond their walls

Early mornings, always
Six AM and sober as hell
Awake, alive, alone?
Thought process
And the wish of a dream


A long walk
Immersed or otherwise
To pay for an untimely death
And back again
To the abode that will never be home

Strangers and friends
And neither
The entities, the ghosts
That walk among us
Forever unknown, an eternity of mute
Shapes, passing through, going home

Slight Misdemeanours (unfinished)

“Fuckin’ ‘ell man, look at the state of him!”
Two young boys, maybe my age, tracksuits, caps, sports trainers. I smile back at them, a real double rower, teeth akimbo. They keep walking, its obvious enough that I’m not what they’d consider entertaining. They’re right though, as much as it pains me to agree with the little bastards, I look dreadful. You see, that’s what happens to you, the morning after the kind of night I’ve just had. I’ve not really slept in the past two days. Maybe a few minutes on a bench somewhere, but not what you’d call substantial sleep. I’ve been up, running riot around my town. Forget painting it red, I’ve been painting it all the colours of the god damn rainbow. I did start this little escapade with a group of acquaintances, though they’re not exactly what you could call friends. Either way, I lost them somewhere along the way. Fuck ‘em, I’ve no time for lightweights.
Before we embark on this joyful tale, let me get one thing straight. I am not a drug addict. Never have been, never will be. Addiction is for people who take fun too seriously, and I’m just here to have a good time. I smoke/bomb/eat and sniff my way through a variety of, shall we say, “controlled substances”, but I don’t need them. I feel sorry for the fuckers that do.
So, its been forty eight hours, and now its starting to look like my fun may be ending. My funds are running low and the pills I dropped last night are wearing off. Welcome to the come down, population; me. It must be some time in the afternoon, judging from people walking around with their takeaway lunches, maybe about 2 o clock. I lost sense of time about 36 hours ago. I’m near the town centre, sitting on the steps outside one of those highstreet retailers that scream at you from their windows, “Buy these clothes!” “Dress like this and everyone will like you!”. I think its safe to say that with me sitting outside, their image is being slightly ruined. No one wants to walk past me. I can see it, people are redirecting their path to go around me, you’d think I was a fucking leper. I guess it just goes to show the mentality of modern man, these people in the highstreet. If it doesn’t look good, it isn’t good. Bullshit. I may not exactly look as suave and sophisticated as the models in the window of the shop behind me, but does that make me a bad person? Should I be avoided because of the mud on my jeans and the rip in my top? Just look at them, walking on by with their prim haircuts, their pastel coloured clothes and condescending looks. Probably on their way home to middle-class surburbia, to clean their MPV, enjoy a nice family meal with the kids and then settle down to watch X factor. Maybe they’re happy, but it’s not for me, I’m looking for more than that. I want something big, not the shallow satisfaction of adequate success. It seems as though this idea has been developed, that the meaning of life is to do as well as you possibly can. Fuck that. This, what I’m doing right here, to know and experience as much of life as possible, that’s the meaning behind it all. Stuff your dvd/tv combo, give me a gram of mdma and a pack of fags and I’ll show you some real enlightenment.
I think its time for me to leave, people are getting uncomfortable of my presence and if I stay much longer, the pigs will no doubt show up. Its happened before, I was doing nothing, just minding my business, trying to recover some sense of this feeble reality, when along hop constable beer belly and his mate, PC fuck off. It took a long time to convince them it was nothing but a hangover, but they eventually left me with instructions to go home and get some sleep. I figured I’d beat them to it this time and head back home before they even got here. Not for sleep, I just need some more money for tonights outing.
Home is a miniscule little council flat just out of town. I have a bed, a sink, a cooker and a bathroom. What else do I need? I’m only 19, so I probably shouldn’t be in this
kind of situation, I should be at home with my loving, supporting family. Unfortunately, lifes not quite like that, and family isn’t exactly what its cracked up to be. Still, that’s the past and this is the present, I’m not one to dwell. On my way up the stairs I see a variety of used needles and empty baggies. Not mine though. I wouldn’t go near any of that intraveinous shit, and besides, I do all my law breaking away from the nest. If you regulate all your drug related activity to one place, you’re much more likely to get caught. If you move around, stay mobile with it, like me, then no one’s going to know where you are. This point got proven a few days ago. My friend, and main dealer, lived in the same block of flats as me. It was a superb arrangement. I could nip to his flat, pick up whatever I fancied and then be on my merry way. He’d even give me a good deal. I went up there two days ago to find the door kicked in and everything gone from inside. I don’t know if it was the police or something more sinister, but he’s gone now, and I doubt I’ll be seeing him anytime soon. Since then I’ve had to go through someone a bit less trustworthy. His name’s Mitchell, a real nasty looking guy. Missing teeth, fucked up scars running all over his shaven head. It might sound stereotypical, the scary drug dealer, but in my experience, most are just normal people, no different to you or me. Mitchell, he was the exception, he’s everything you’d expect a drug dealer to be. If you ask how he got the scars, he says its from a car accident. In that case, this car must have been armed with a fucking machete. I’m not stupid, and knife wounds are obvious enough.

Untitled 1

I’m only a boy
So what do I do
When everyone moves forward
But I’m still the fool?

Do I stay just the same
Ignore as my age
Grows higher and higher
Than my minimum wage?

Do I look for the answer
In bottles so deep
By the time it’s all gone
I can’t feel my feet?

Or look to the sky
And to God I’ll pray
That one of his Angels
Will soon take me away

Do I wait here alone
To one day find
Soft walls and ceilings
And that I’ve lost my mind?

I think that I’ll wait
To see what comes next
The weight of the world
Heavy on my chest

My day will come
And I’ll be set free
Then who’ll be the fool?
Not you, and not me.

K-night

I am underwater
Here, on another comfortable sofa
I am submerged

I stand and the high tide rises
I sit and it falls again

The tap is dry in the kitchen sink

You too, below in this narcotic aquarium

We flee towards the shore outside
On the street, we see the sky for the first time

Headlights show us the heavens
Gravity leads the way
You and I, my friend. Drowned in revelation.

Byways Mornings

Alone in the front room
Bruised eyes and cut arms
Injured egos and smoke alarms
Irritant minds with a head set to stun
I wonder if this will ever stop being fun

Light through thin curtains
At a time we don’t know
From the night before what have we got to show
But a world off centre
And pockets of dust
How good it feels just to be part of “us”.

Hard coffee in jars
Goats milk for three
Trying to find some recovery
The world stops to spin
Television no sound
For the first time in hours
Our feet touch the ground

Again we leave Byways
Exhausted and sore
Half memories abound
From the night before
Smiles and laughter, a game we won’t win
So I bid you adieu, farewell
Fin.

Between everything and nothing

I feel used up, empty. These blank walls reflect my face; send it smashing back towards my feeble, battered mind. Maybe it’s been there this whole time, hiding behind the multiple layers of gloss white paint. Maybe I’ve been lying. To you, to myself. To anyone that hangs around long enough to listen. This is pitiful; this is self deprecation at its lowest level. Selfish, introverted, idealistic. I am well aware of how futile these past hours have been, and know that in the hours (or maybe days) to come, nothing will change. This is nothing.

I want to leave, not because I don’t like this place or these people, but I fear I’ve developed the itch. It snuck in, a thief in the night, and has burrowed deep. “The urge to flee came suddenly”. I’ve always found myself longing for a new world, faces never seen before and never to be seen again, to hear a friend’s voice from the mouth of a stranger. Now that I’m here, I can’t help but ask, “Is this it?” These uniform buildings and identical nights, the endless days of true trepidation, of half heartedness and a lack of sincerity. I long to feel “alive”. I am on a constant search for those moments, where for a few brief seconds, the vastness between everything and nothing is bridged, and all becomes one. Take me to a hilltop as the summer sun dips beneath the horizon, give me Paris in the rain, and overdose me on epic clichés. Give me a soul to lie out, to stare deep into your eyes and tell you everything, and receive all you have in return. Cross legged on a concrete floor, watching the dice as they fall.