this is too much
the subjekt is failing under the strain
turn off the power and leave him alone
in five days ve vill try him again
— yes, you too have little evil Russian scientists running around your head. (Not that I’m casting aspersions on Russian scientists, there. Pleae don’t blow me up.)
smell is emotion; love is devotion
travelling through london city, black towers.
happiness at room temperature(
life free of adventure)
tell the truth: no-one likes his laugh
— I found this fragment just before, dated 12th February 2004. That’s almost exactly three years ago now.
no point in moving forward
when your eyes are placed behind
the best you can do is carry on
pretending that you’re not blind.
a touch of poetry never goes amiss
with the contours of its words and in its subtle twist
of subtext under meaning and the meter under rhyme
the last words of a sentence close its motion over time.
what happens when i half don’t want you anymore
when i wake up with your things strewn across the floor
and my first response is to throw them all away
until i see you and i leave it for another day
we stay together more out of habit than of taste
hoping things will improve themselves so we can save face
thinking every moment — is this when it’s gonna end?
half hoping that it is, to save this downward-spiral trend
i stay awake at night with your body next to mine
half repulsed and half knowing and almost totally resigned
to failing to say or speak my mind
i worry and think and hope that you’ll be fine
i’d still like to taste your lips
savour the texture and tang of your kiss
feel your hands run over my neck
as mine stroll down your chest.
— some words stolen from hit the street, an earlier poem by moi. this one’s turning into a song, though.
when streets around me darken
and the faces loom from the night
i feel trapped in a world where i don’t belong
. nothing’s going right.
i hastily keep walking
as i ponder how it fell apart
the money went, and with it my life
i shudder as i breathe in the dark.
then — i recall a house nearby
i walk up and knock on the door
it’s the one place left before i go to my rest
— i step inside, stand on your floor.
your face lights up like a firework
and you warmly invite me to drink
the living room glow, it diffuses so well
and soon i’m happily unable to think.
eventually time comes, and i walk out the door
i knew that it would have to end
and as i lay, back home, before my permanent sleep —
i remembered you, my last true friend.
downbeat as always, your little stories
paint pictures in my mind
dark and dreary, bright and cheery
the colours, you paint sublime
your lungs are wheezing, your spark is leaving
but your voice still carries on
the things you’ve said i won’t forget
even when you’re dead and gone.
— what’s this one about? maybe an old relative, a grandparent, who told you stories. he smoked and you see now how close he was to death, but it didn’t seem to stop him. now his stories which you thought you’d never forget are fogged over, maybe never to be heard again.
i stood in crowded space
trying not to stare
but something about your face
caught my glance like a snare
a quick look down and up again
hoping i wouldn’t be seen
but i see your head turn and you focus on me
inside i feel myself squeam.
we made eye contact just the once
and quickly looked away
it was merely a momentary glance
and no-one was there to say
that when our barriers slipped today
it was anything but distraction
there was no mutual attraction
open for all to see.
“you should have told me earlier
at least then i’d’ve known”
i sat and thought about the facts
silent and alone.
the futility of worry dawned on me
and i became still inside
why resist? it creates more pain
i– just accept you lied.
the way you told me hit me bad
like a bullet from a gun
you’d never tried to meet my eye
since you found you had a son.
the more i thought of our kid in you
our helixes intertwined
the more i realised i had no control
over what you did with mine.
i sat and tried to be reasonable
but i left me feeling resigned
i sit in my cellar and stare at the wall.
there’s noise upstairs, someone in the hall
i take no notice, but i still feel the fear
if somebody looks, will they notice me here?
i’m changing. and i don’t understand
how time slips away like sand through my hands.
who knows what’ll shift as i sift through the shards
of a broken mirror, left alone in the dark.