Jack, The Time Machine

Jack is a time machine,
a single sip and I’m back,
on the kitchen floor
of an old friend’s house,
or stuck to the dancefloor,
the creaking old wood.
Cigarette ends and techno
and punk rock.

Jack is a time machine,
washing away years,
back to washing away pain.
Crying in the mirror,
drinking alone.
Alone with no north star,
my “idols” never got me,
I looked the wrong way.

Jack is a time machine,
to every old pursuit,
after dancing with my friends.
Blowing guys in car parks,
Jack and cum on my tongue,
diet coke after taste,
lighting up a fag
and slipping away.

Jack is a time machine,
the morning wheeze,
Christmas lights in June,
sheets around my ankles.
A mix CD on repeat,
left spinning all night.
House mates in the next room,
us all with stories to tell.

Jack is a time machine,
fifteen years have passed,
I haven’t touched him in years.
Bringing him to my lips,
the taste of an old friend.
Vaping and thinking,
thinking and thinking.

leave me alone

i can smile all i want
bare bone disingenuously
go fuck yourself
you are horrible
leave me alone
its more than i can bare
leave me out of this
save your bullshit
i have to smile
im trapped here
you dont have to be a cunt
why should i care
leave me alone
civility is not challenging
just fuck off

Chasms

it falls when you’re not watching
it will float there when you do
all wrong and pointless
vast chasms between interactions
interactions that matter
that mean something to you
pain in the drop
rolling slowly in the chasms
prime real estate
for a connection to be built
fewer bonds forged with age
fewer still when pinned down
when accosted
the echo of thought in the chasms
it is a boring sensation
echoes and thoughts and interests
and echoes of thought
either repeat to fade again
or to die in your ear

Worth It?

If you cared for your life you wouldn’t be here,
my eyes are not worth your time.
It’s a crazy notion to think I’ve made it this far,
where am I to be when I am discovered?
When those around me realise I’m not worth it.
Picking at the dry skin around my fingernails,
alone and doubting my rhyme and reasons,
what would it be like to believe in yourself?
I can’t even begin to imagine how it feels,
a town centre is a world of dread to me,
naked and observed ad-hoc by everyone,
judged in the same horrid way I judge people.
Hypocrisy to a blessing and a curse,
the strongest shield and the weakest link,
always pretending
but I wish I didn’t give a fuck.

14/12/2015

endless ebbs a snaking a drowning
drained waiting undead
hopeful cords break my fall sometimes
a cold empty space in every room
the other they fear to converse with
some other variety of gloom
haunted by a homeless question mark
punctuation and grammar misplaced
a mismatch of tone and narrative
it aches all the time
soft cold air drifting down hard heavy
aimless pressure at winter dusk
the stationary feels heavy in my hand
rotting leaves rotting petals
branches out to catch and molest
bearing thorns waiting in dark
whispering on my neck we hate you
a poisoned kiss placed on nape
cliches in the dark as i walk home