Inside You

I want to crawl inside you and play
with what makes you human,
feeling through to collect scraps
and momentos,
things you need to live and things
you need to forget.

I’ll pretend to love and care for you
just so my hate can get close enough
to steal your coping mechanisms,
digging my nails in to scrape them out,
consume them while i’m curled up
inside you.

Shards and fragments to be stolen,
my missing pieces,
a patch work now where identity is lost,
how did you learn to cope in this world?
I’ll consume your insides until I learn
the truth.

Hollow & Eczema

Take it away from me,
rip it out of my hollow.
Death congeals at my feet,
the sky bears down,
wolves ripping at this corpse.
Rip it away from me
for i cannot deal
with this falseness,
not right now.
Tricks are being played,
longing for treats,
I used to love this time of year.
Skin blisters,
cracks and splits,
losing my fingerprints again.
Body reacting to everything
I can’t put into words
or won’t,
the cold doesn’t help.
I used to love this time of year.

The Victorian Pier

Sauntering on the planks,
boats out at sea,
umbrella in my hand,
the grey hanging high.

An old pebble beach,
strolling along the esplanade,
admiring the Italian gardens,
Victorian splendour in autumn.

Holes in my shoes,
the smell of rust,
the smell of salt,
waves dance below us.

Fishermen in the drizzle,
the Pavilion’s history echoes,
empty benches seat ghosts,
the pier their host.

Hanging On

Hanging at the corner of the street,
cigarette hanging out my mouth,
eyes hanging open and stinging.

Someone is playing the saxophone badly,
notes farting out of an open window,
the half formed song hangs in the sky.

Autumn hangs in waiting close by.
I am hanging on its every word,
waiting to make a decision.

Morning Fog

I am in a shroud of mystery,
trudging over the football field,
goal posts of white and rust,
the mist is hanging heavy over.
Matted dead grass clings to boots,
summer’s greens and autumn’s golds,
watching the seagulls as they glide
in and out of the fog above me.

Ghostly houses in the near distance,
an empty easel in a third floor window.
I pass through the dying park,
a pastel purple shirted spectre,
leaves slowly start their turn,
an empty lead on a decaying bench,
a stone war memorial matches the sky.
places painted with rain in grey.