Sunday, 27 April 2014

The Boy With Snow In His Hair

I look down from the clouds and see a
boy with snow in his hair. And I wonder,
who put him there? But I watch flacks 
descend, and ponder, the meaning of it 
all, can I go on longer? The snow cascades,
and the snow falls, while I stumble, and 
crash into walls. The Black of his hair, 
and the Blue of his eyes, make me think, that
it's all just lies. Stripped back, while I'm
standing aside, he's still there, but my hands 
are tied. The snow's melting, and the snow's 
drifting, but this boy's endless, and he's inwardly
lifting. Snow always crunches, and snow is 
soft. But it's only him, that keeps me 
aloft. I want to shout, and I want to 
whisper, but none of that, will make the snow
crisper. He's in my eyes, he's in my soul, 
he's all that's left to make me whole. 

Friday, 28 March 2014

An Uplifting Fall

Everything resting on a needle point, 
until it all takes a plunge. 
Quick press reverse. 
Undo the affair, get back friends, 
un-alienate family, drop into uni. 
Throw myself onto a bridge, 
let the air suck away the water. 
Let the wind whip my hair the other way. 
Scars ripple through my life, 
like splintered glass. And I, 
the boot that stomps down. 

Friday, 7 February 2014

Blonde and Brunette

Blonde and Brunette, I don't know which is best?
I mean I'd fuck either, but which one first? 
Those two, those everything's, it's such a test. 
It's all kept inside me, am I going to burst. 

But there is no choice, what could I do really? 
I could attempt to dive, sink down, but how?  
I mean I could do everything so clearly, 
or try and act, and let it all fall down now. 

Fire and ice, but everything's turned nice. 
Oh behave, idiot, that's not you at all, 
it's no sure thing, it's all a roll of the dice. 
What's this anyway? Nothing really, just a stall. 

Je suis en amour avec deux à la fois? Oui. 
But what is there I can do? Nothing, but plea.  




Wednesday, 4 December 2013

Where's My Superman?

The Monster's within, Knights and Kings,
no use. Pawns against a queen. Black
and white squares, no grey, this or that.

X miles as the crow flies, specific and
defined. Categories. A, B or C. Can't we
be the whole alphabet? Or a sideways 8.

Ripped jeans and muddy t-shirts. Burning
the closet, so as to watch myself burn. A multi-
coloured flame loosened. Just fucking kill it.

Quench it. Stab it. Shoot it. Drown it. Smother
it. Drop it. Poison it. Ram it. Cut it. Decapitate
it. Starve it. Freeze it. Strangle it. End it.

Tumbling with it, endlessly, struggling.
It's hands over my mouth, a silent parasite.
But oh god how I love it. Please. Just end.

An unnatural pain. The colour of another
life, spilling over the top, covering smothering,
Bubbles rising in a pint glass, endlessness.

A long for neon lights, pressed bodies and
asses to grab. For sweet intoxication, for the drop,
for bliss that is life. For flesh against mine.

I get my bedroom, the white light of the internet
and a blank canvas. Where's my fucking red paint?!
Big brother won't give what I deserve. Or need.

A bee stung in the middle of a bee hive, or a
fish that's drowned in water. Columns and piano
legs. Why are they tied down, not liberated.

The greeks had it right. Why do we blot
everything good in the world. Ink against skin
and paper against backs. Smashed glass.

Insert an ambiguous ellipses. The unfinished
epic, the serialised novel still being written.
The pause before the round of applause or
the sentence being read before the execution.

Monday, 2 December 2013

Suspended Animation

Lifted a little from the ground, glass
Splited. A bullet, slicing everything. 
You. Suspended mid back flip. Perfect.
Always surprised, the best smile. Laugher. 

Gushing water, and rain drops in mid air. 
Oh I do, white sheets, always white. 
I could never sleep, bodies flung out wide. 
Flashing lights and crushed bodies. Awesome. 

A consistent brightness, burning and expanding. 
Roaring, rearing it's head, nothing better. 
Strawberries and sugar, ice cream on a 
summer solstice, hot chocolate on christmas. 

Immortality, the greatest vice. Eternal torture, 
eternal death next to eternal life. For you, this 
is mine. A life time isn't long enough. A dove 
flutter by and we're gone. Roses bloom and decay. 


Friday, 29 November 2013

Breathing Difficulties

Crack, the walls fall inwards, violently,
Glass falling, strangely random and smack. 
Late. Trapped within. Rebuilding, bigger, 
better, Rome to London. A consistent Hate. 

The walls fall outward, an explosions 
in your soul. A deflation, a balloon flying 
across the room. Rain on holiday, and 
chips without salt. One mark of perfect 
and five away from brilliance. I hate it, 
I love it, I'm passionately indifferent. 

The walls are static. Obviously. They're walls. 
Fire exit this way, please walk slowly 
and calmly as you try to out run a possibly 
painful death. Lover's face, not the sex.
Tired. Weightlessness. Flying. Burning.
Longing for the sweet release of swimming
within you, quenching and realising. Ending.  

Friday, 6 September 2013

Burning Slowly

Darkened shadows, slowly erasing you.
Sharp lines, brushing over imperfect whites. 
A deluge of perfected words streams through 
pale cracked lips. Not mentioning wordless fights. 
Staring daggers. You easily despise.    
Backflip and front flip, you twist and contort.
Always grasping, always clawing your prize. 
Not understanding that your teethe distort  
what you hold dear. It blackens your two souls.   
A poisonous love. Warms as its scouring. 
A cancer. Consuming as it controls. 
Seeping into everything. Devouring.
Cherished memories tainted. Devotion. 
Jealousy, one word, simply emotion.     

The Guys and Girls

I'm Drowning in compulsion. Popular novels and
genre fiction. Reality TV and blockbuster movies.
The sell by date on the latest craze.
Pop n'Rock. Fad and fiction. Labels and laziness.

I'm living in dead pixels. Eating electricity and
consuming the wireless. Tumbling down hills
listening to birds and reading books on faces.
His, her, your opinion. Does it matter what I like?

I'm 10, I'm 8, I'm 6. Is that good enough yet?
He's 30 day abs and tall parents. She's make up
and designers whims. I'm the prey to the predators.
I long for a face wipe and crisps. None of this.

I slip up on soap, and fall down on reality.
I'm at home with numbers, but in the wilderness
with fabric. I know about equations and algorithms.
But need to know the contents of Heat. Mundane.

Mundane. I strip down the wall, pull of the sheets.
Whitewashed. Erase. Eat. Put my hand up. Start over.
Choose comics and Woolf. To have a blank profile.
To swim in black and know the answer. To begin.

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

The Others

A pair of ravens sits on a roof top,
one say to the other, "squawk",
the other nods, dignified. Then
hops of the roof and flies away.  

A pair of cats sit on a garden wall,
one sways its tail in the wind, the
other looks on, nonplused. They watch
the cars rush of in quiet contempt.

A pair of dog sit outside a sliding door,
tied down, they wag their tails as strangers
walk past. One looks to the other and says...
Nothing, they just sit, quietly waiting for master.

A pair of goldfish sit at home.
Floating in the water, being fish.
The humans come in, and be humans.
With no eyes for dogs or cats or birds or fish.
But with just look at the pink thing in there arms.

Dragons

Dragons made of dust blaze across the sky,
common place in the dream of immortal men, 
but unreachable by those who are dragons. 
A dust made of dreams, make of lust and longing. 
Falling into an upward draft, being propelled into 
another life, another age, another love. Into you
or her, or him, or it, or them, or us, or me, or nothing. 

Dragons made of dust blaze across the sky.
But the ground is just a good. 

Friday, 21 June 2013

Words on Pixels (Or Words on Paper)

Making words isn't hard, making sense is.
It's hard to write about how you feel, because 
emotion can't be expressed within lines and curves. 
Maths is easy. It's precise, it's harder to go wrong. 
But words. Oh no, totally different story. Pun intended
because I'm a poet. There's a thing, I can't do something 
by accident anymore. I can see the techniques I use, 
and then I know I've done it wrong because I read it, and
it's not what I want. But hey, words and the best thing 
we've got, so we should all appreciate them. Right? 
But what do I know, I'm just a writer who has nothing to 
write about. I'm not even sure if this is a poem or not.   

Sunday, 16 June 2013

The Perfect Memento

Cheap shots and you're off. 
Taxi ride, who's place? His. 
Do you have it, do you want it, 
Will you do it, yes, yes, of course. 
Oh God, it's happening. And then
it's done. You're broken. You 
roll off. And the lights go out. 
12 years for one night. Water. 
All you want is water. Now. 

You leave, with a bad taste and 
beer googles gone. He was a 7 not 
a 10. You idiot. Home. How was your
night honey? Good. You look bad. 
Mummy your home?! Mummy's got 
a headache. You sleep. You wake. 
Please, that was a dream, a bad dream. 
You wouldn't. Couldn't. Didn't. You doubt 
you were safe when you're 3 weeks late. 

Was it worth it. 12 years, 2 kids, 1 husband. 
Teenage sweethearts. The unbreakable's. The 
power couple. The perfect couple. The couple
everyone admired. Kids don't understand, why 
Mummy never comes home. Why Daddy cries 
all the time. Was it their fault? Weren't they 
good? Was it worth it. All that, was it worth it for 
great abs, brilliant blond hair, blue eyes, killer arms, 
and tight jeans. And nine months later you get a memento. 

Tuesday, 23 April 2013

Vivid - Part 2

Rob walked into school the next morning to see the results hype was still in full swing. Everyone was still asking everyone what they got, people were either letting their happiness sink in, or worrying about what this might do to their end grade. Either way it didn’t effect Rob, he just walked through the crowds of people fitting into neither category. The school Rob went to confused him, it was all one building with several floors in places, but there didn’t seem to be much of a set space for many subjects. The science department had labs in all four corridors of the school, and they were able to keep their classes rooms. Some of the other subjects had a fight on their hands to keep rooms for themselves, and some found themselves moving every year. Or in the worst cases every term. Rob was making his way to home room, he had the morning off but his Dad wouldn’t let him lie in, especially not after last night. When he woke in the morning he was face with a renewed anger from his Dad, and he’d gone downstairs to get a few more bruises. Mainly around the topic of re-sits. The idea scared Rob half to death, if he could do well enough on these exams, what would it be like when he had those ones again and a load more. 
He got to home room, and sat down. By now everyone had either cleared out to go to class, only a few people were milling about. Rob sat down in his usual place, in the far corner of the room where no one really disturbed him. He didn’t really know what to do with himself, he’d hope that he could have a rare morning off after some good results. But that obviously wasn’t going to happen. He opened his bag, and got out all his notes from before he took the exam. He realised he needed to pin point where he went wrong in the exam so as to do better the next time. He got out copies off all the exam papers and started to scour for the answers to his failure. After a while, and a few ‘Oh God you knew that Rob’ moments, he was interrupted. 
“Are theses all the exams that happened in January?” A voice asked him. He looked up and saw Maria, and was instantly paralysed in the way a boy of seventeen gets when he sees his crush. 
“Um yeah, I wasn’t really happy with my Bs, so I’m seeing where I went wrong.” She raised her eyebrows. She had curly fiery orange hair, and brown eyes. She had, in Rob opinion, the perfect body, and the perfect face. He watched her walk over to English, or sitting around reading a book. 
“You got Bs in science, that’s impressive to me.” Rob shrugged, he knew it was, but he could hardly tell her that his Dad… he stopped thinking. 
“I know, but I just thought I’d done well. And I made some stupid mistakes.” She say down next to him, and looked over some of the notes. 
“I don’t even understand any of this stuff. But then I’m just a humanities girl I guess.” She put the sheet down and got a book out. It was Pride and Prejudice. Rob was baffled by the fact that she was sitting next to him, there was no one else in the block. 
“That books good,” he said. “Austen’s use of aphorisms clearly shows her discontent with the society at the time.” She looked up, eyes wide. 
“I thought you were a science kid.” Rob shrugged, blushing a little.
“I can still read.” He thought about telling her that he wished he’d done English, but that would leave him open to the question of why. 
“I’ve read this a few times. But I finish the books we get given in English to quickly so I have to re-read or buy more, and I never have enough money for books.” He smiled, not really knowing what to say. 
“I prefer Sense and Sensibility.” He put in. She looked wide eyes. 
“How much of Austen have you read?” 
“Well everything I think. Northanger Abby is pretty good to, because it’s mock gothic rather than mock romantic.” She looked stunned again.        
“So are you some wannabe English student or summit?” 
“No. I just don’t sleep a lot.” He said, hoping she didn’t think he was to weird. 
“Oh, well sounds like you’d make an ace English student.” She looked back down to her book, and read for a bit, and Rob went through his exams for a while. But he couldn’t concentrate properly. All he could think off was the girl sitting next to him. The strangeness of what was happening. But she kept looking up to him, and he kept making eye contact with her without meaning to. The bell came signalling break and she got up to go sit with her friends, and he watched her walk away. She looked back over to him a few times, but Rob kept pretending he didn’t notice. When the room cleared again she didn’t come back over. But he wanted her to. He hoped he’d impressed her. But she obviously judged him for being a science kid, and he judged himself for that as much. He looked down at the paper. I hate science so much, he thought, and almost expected his Dad to hear him, and come bursting in ready to pin him against the wall again. “Rob?” She said. He was startled to find her hovering over him, he was just staring at the exams papers around him. It dawned on him that he’d never actually told her his name, but then he knew hers without having to ask. He was probably well know as ‘that kid who doesn’t talk to anyone.’ 
“Yeah?” He said, looking up to her. 
“Do you wanna, maybe go out, and see a movie with me on saturday.” He was taken aback. 
“Um yeah sure, what time?” 
“Oh say we meet at one at the odeon?” He knew his Dad was going out to a match on that day, and wouldn’t be back until the early hours of the next day. 
“Yeah sure that sounds great.” She smile. 
“Good, I’ll cya then.” She turned away, and Rob tried not to feel to excited. 

A bright light, bursts forth. 
It blinds you at first, you can’t see past it. 
You shield your eyes, brace for the impact. 
But the light runs up the wall, and chases away the shadows. 
Your eyes adjust, you lower you guard. 
The thousand dark birds start to turn white. 
Like pin pricks of light through a giant black canvas. 


Friday, 19 April 2013

Vivid - Part 1

A story is real. Consider the idea that in the universe, which is ever expanding, there is infinite potential. Therefore there is potential for there to be a world out there where the story your reading right now is real. And if the universe is infinite, and still expanding, then is must be real. So middle earth, disc world and Hogwarts are all out there somewhere. There is also a copy of earth where everything is exactly the same, in fact there should be infinite copies of earth.

Rob sat alone in his bedroom, looking out his window at the cloudy sky, only a few patches of blue shining through. Rob, sitting quietly, was scared. The fear of what he knew was to come was rushing through him, he shacked, paced and held his head in his hands, but he could not get rid of the fear. He knew that soon his Dad would come home, and he’d see the results sheet he’d left on the mantel, it would tell him he’d only got Bs in his first set of A-Level exams. Most people would be happy with that grade, but not Rob, or his Dad. That rage would pulse through him in almost an instant. He’d shout at Rob, and Rob would have to try and navigate the maze of his fathers rage. And try and avoid earning another bruise. But he knew today that it was inevitable. 
Rob is currently seventeen, and study the three sciences and math at six form, much to his displeasure. He hated science, but if he ever told his Dad that he’d probably end up with a broken arm. He longed to tell him that sometimes. He read a lot, when he could. But he knew now that he might have to go through another book burning. Last time he got a bad grade his Dad had burned all his books because they were, apparently, a distraction. Rob longed to study English, he watched the English students walk to there class, and had to fight the strongest urge to follow them. Rob stood again, he was around six foot, and skinny. He was taller than his Dad, and that had shocked him when he first realised because he didn’t feel like he was. 
He had chocolate brown hair, and dark green eyes. His face was round, but his eyes always had dark circles, he never stopped revising. But then it hadn’t been good enough this time. His chest was covered in bruises, his dad never hit his face, unless he was exceptionally made. After the time Rob was asked about a bruise once he’d flipped, and given him several new ones for letting people see them. His dad didn’t see anything wrong with hitting his son, he thought that’s how kids got disciplined. And Rob had quickly learn’t how to avoid it on the majority of days, but he knew this time it was beyond his control. Then he heard it, the sickening sound. It was the sound of the key in the latch. He knew he had a minuet, if that, until his Dad would burst through that door. He listened to his dad heavy breathing, the sound of his tossing his keys aside. 
And then a silence. It was like he could feel his Dad’s mood changing, building, as he looked at the grades, and grew angry. Rob thought about his Mum, she was dead, she’d died giving birth to him. But she’d loved his Dad, when he saw pictures of her and his Dad together it made him sad. He’d made his Dad like this, that’s what he told himself, that he killed the person that made his dad a decent, and happy person, and now he was paying the price for it. Then it came. 
“Bs!!” He shouted. “What a load of crap.” There was a pause. “Rob! Get down here.” His farther knew, he knew how much he feared him, but I think he liked it. When he was drunk he boasted about how much control over his son he had, and any achievement he made was his achievement as well. Rob made the solemn walk downstairs, it was never long enough. He knew the steps, the top one was his best friend, and the bottom one his worst enemy. And walked down, and into the from room. He felt the wind get knocked out of him as his fathers fist went into his stomach. “What the hell?!” He shouted, his fat unclean face just centimetres from him. “Are you brain dead of something? Ah?” 
“No.” Rob says quietly. 
“Well then what are these Bs?” 
“There not that bad grades Dad.” He pushed him against the wall, and grabbed a handful of his hair, and pulled. Rob didn’t yell. 
“Do you think that’s funny?” He said, menacingly. 
“No I just meant...” he pulled his hair a little tighter. 
“You won’t get these grades again, will you?” 
“Yes, I’ll do better.” 
“Good, you got go lightly.” he let go and took a step back. “If I had any sense I’d throw you out, your an embarrassment sometimes. No son of mine get Bs. Your mother would be disappointed if she saw you.” She’d be disappointed in you, Rob thought. He looked at his farther, and then to the floor. He had to wait before he could go, he had to be told whether he was done or not. He could hit him again. 
“Why do you look at me like that?!” His dad suddenly shouted. 
“Like what?” Rob asked quietly, the fear etched in his voice. 
“Just go,” his Dad said, his angry gone as quickly as it had come. “I can’t look at you, or this.” He thrust the paper into his chest, which hurt. Rob quietly walk away, and back upstairs. He skipped the creaky one, because sometimes when his Dad heard it he got angry again. Rob knew he’d got off lightly. But it never felt like he’d done bad, or good out of a situation like this. He went into his room, and sat on his bed again, looking out the window. It was dark, he hand’t realized it was going dark until now. After a while of sitting quietly, reliving the event over and over Rob got up, stripped off and got into bed. He curled up into a ball, hugging his legs to his chest, his head resting on his knees. Everything around him was black, he heard his house creak, and felt his body ache. But worst of all was the screaming in his head. Because he’d forgotten how to scream out loud.   

Darkness descends in the dead of night, 
Washing over your world, rippling to the sides. 
Red stained fists blot your white skin, smudging, 
Staining. A word, a number, a letter, a movement. 
They all trigger the landslide, the crushing. 
Thousands of tiny birds cross the sky around you, 
You spin your head as you watch them fly, silently.

Saturday, 13 April 2013

Upload

It began with earpieces. We couldn’t live without them, on the way to work, on the drive home. That’s how it infected us, through the parts of out life that we didn’t  really care about. When your commute is just thirty minuets of dead space how easy is it for you to just slip on headphones and listen to music, or have a book read to you. But then it infected other parts of our lives, silently at first. We’d crave the headphones, the ability to plug in and listen to that song that was driving us mad all day, or find out what would happen next to in our story. Then it became more. Someone asked what if you could watch TV on the go, in the same way you could listen to books on the go. I remember the announcement, it was world breaking news, that we’d be able to watch TV on the go. In our eyes. They implanted them in us, tiny little devices, that projected an image onto the optical nerve of our eyes, and we’d be able to watch TV or a movie, in our head. Equipped with wireless power, so they’d never run out, and the ability to never be without entertainment. The world went crazy overnight. People like me did question whether this was going too far. But you don’t argue with the technology Gods. 

It took about a year before it was made consumable by the masses. The rich invested in the devices first and that allowed the companies to make the technology cheaper, and therefore more and more people got the implants. The age restrictions in countries got lowered, and lowered. About five years after the initial announcement came the next breakthrough. Social networks were brought into the mix. They’d already implanted microphones in our ears so we were never without music or sound. Now we had the ability of total submersion. Through another chip, somehow implanted deeper within us. We could enter a virtual reality space. So what you’d do is log in through, say, your phone, and then you’d be in a different reality. It was dubbed the first virtual reality. Initially it was a massive city, where you could walk around, and meet with other friends who were online. You could do this from anywhere. I’d walk through a carriage on a bus, and see people that looked passed out with glazed over looks in their eyes. But this was the new norm, no one but me looked at these people like they were weird. 

This new reality exploded. Online dating became something totally different, you’d actually meet in cyber space for your first date. You could change your appearance with just a few clicks, become thinner without dieting, and gaming became something extraordinary. Online worlds became actual worlds. But with these things came bad. When you met someone online, you’d have no idea what they were actually like, and it became a lot easier for people to convince you to meet in reality. You can only imagine what this did to the rape statistics. If you looked good in cyber space, then you became less bothered about your appearance in the real world. Obesity and diabetes sky rocketed. But gaming, I saw no drawback, it was brilliant, I imagined living my life in a fantasy world. They were building them all, Middle Earth, Disc World, Narnia. You could fall down a rabbit hole and go to wonderland if you wanted.

The world was going online, and less and less time was being spent offline. Everything became more real. Then one day, I read an article, from a shrinking group of people that didn’t go offline, saying that you could now go to a movie theatre in virtual reality. By now almost every major city had been rendered in this reality, but this kick was that people didn’t have to travel anymore, they could just decide they wanted to be somewhere, and then be there. So that dead space was gone. And now we were doing what we could have done anyway, but in another world. Because that’s what it had become by now. People had jobs online, I believe the first was a job as a journalist in cyber space. And then more and more people decided they’d rather never turn off. You can imagine that by now the companies were making humanity pay for their new addiction. But we needed money, and so we worked for it.

I could wander the streets of New York and meet no one. A massive class divide erupted. Those who could afford to stay online twenty-four seven, and those who had to work in the real world. Because the lower classes had to cater to the needs of those who wanted to stay online, they didn’t want to leave. But someone had to make sure our bodies, yeah remember them, stayed alive. But how were we still alive. It’s been fifty years now. Almost everyone is gone. I suppose people don’t remember that it’s the year 2092. I was born into an age obsessed by technology. I was born on the eve of the new millennia. And I have watched the world upload itself. Eventually we replaced what we didn’t like, we got rid of the lower class in favour of more technology. Robotics was a physical thing, so it took us a while to remember, but we did it. Now here I am. Probably one of only a handful of humans left with no metal in them. With humanity dying, and children being born out of bytes, what can I tell you. Anyone who is reading this. Life used to be different. Hardship makes us want to have better. But maybe we decided we already had better.

In a thousand years, I imagine that the system will still be going. That the cyber babies will have grown up to have cyber babies. And we will have reached the next stage of human evolution. Or we will have reached our extinction. 

Monday, 8 April 2013

I Have a Mind, Yet I Want to Think

Cold, the traveller stood, on the brow of the rise. He was looking out across a vast sea of green, which went on to the very extent of the horizon. He'd been travelling for several days across open country, never coming into contact with anything but animals. He had on him a large back pack; in which he carried a tent, five days (now two) worth of food, and spare clothes. And strapped to the outside was a sleeping bag. He was hoping to get to the ocean, which he should come to after another day or so's walk. This was the end of day three, so he choose a suitable spot, up against a stone wall, and set out his tent. In which he rolled out his sleeping bag, eat his specified amount of food, and lay back. From out of his bag he produced a journal, he looked at it, tried to think of something to write, and then put it back away. After darkness and want of sleep crept over him he let his consciousness slip.

He suddenly awoke in the dead of night to the sound of a howl. It came from the distance, but he was confused by what he heard. It did not sound like a dog, and there were no wolves in this part of the world. The sound unnerved him. He lay in the darkness, seeing his own breath mist in front of his eyes. He was clinging to himself, praying that he would soon slip back into sleep and that he would wake to a normal day tomorrow.

When he did final sleep in was short and felt like nothing at all. When he awoke he was immediately confronted with a new sound, it was the sound of waves. He quickly unzipped his tent to find he was next to the sea. On a beach in fact. The place where he had made camp gone from underneath him. The sea was around ten feet away from him. He re-zipped the tent, hoping that this was all in his head. But after a short while he realised it wasn't. He slowed his breathing and stopped panicking. He quickly dressed and left the tent. He walked a little way along the beach he was on. He looked away from the sea but saw no end to the sand. He walked and walked and walked but saw no end to the scene, it was just beach, and sand. He walked back the way he came, but when he reached the end of his foot prints he did not find his tent. Nor did he find tracks in the sand, other than his, leading away from the spot.

He sat down in the sand, pondering what he should do. All there was to the place was sea and sand. He looked down at his hands and noticed they were dirty, so he took of his clothes and dived into the water, swimming out to sea. The dirt washed of him in the waves, and he trended water out at sea for nearly an hour. The cold bite actually feeling good, as the temperature on the beach was sweltering. He swam back to shore, but found there were no clothes waiting for him. He ran to the left and then back to the right, but saw nothing of them.

And so away he sat on the beach, and pondered what he should do. He had noting left but his body and his mind. He began to see shapes in the sea, and statues in the sand. Out in the waves he saw horses and deer, cantering towards him then crashing down into oblivion. And to the sand he saw towers, and domes. So vast that when they became so fine they crashed in on themselves.

It was then that he decided to get back up and walk away from the sea. But when he tried to get back to his body, he realised it to was gone.

Sunday, 10 March 2013

Up Down Right Left

Up, euphoria. Down, dismay.
A shadow behind a shadow,
twisting and turning everything.
Up euphoria. Dinners and movies
in your head. Cliché endings and
perfect pieces fitting together.
Down dismay. A shattering of
souls. A loss of hope, life, and
something you never really had.

Right, heart. Left, logic.
The scales tipping with weight,
violently swaying from side to side.
Right, heart. Pushed against a wall,
knife to the throat, are you serious?
What's the answer? The flip of a coin.
Left, logic. Rolling down an embankment
screaming the name, clawing back up,
falling again. Hitting the bottom.

A fragile rose wilting in the morning sun,
red faded, head drooping, dust gathering.

Saturday, 9 February 2013

Fall

Sweet melancholy river, you cry for my woes, 
you'll twist for my whims, you'll surge for my wants. 
As great teeth entrap my means, my hands, my 
ideals. To watch me fall away, swerving to avoid rocks. 
Great peaks and valley's, who've seen me walk, and run, 
and be chased. But stare on with dispassionate eyes. 
Fearless cliffs meet me with calculating warmth, 
edging me closer to to the embracing seas. 
Winds whip at my face, rain pushes me forward. 
As the waiting floor meets me I see my faceless pursuer, 
The hollow man, with powerful hands… black, and cold
and tight and pressured and pain, pain, and a lack of light. 

Sunday, 13 January 2013

Fragments

A tiny paper aeroplane, made of plastic. 
Confetti strewn across wine stained floors. 
A snakes tooth lodged in a family portrait.  
Laundry spread across a cold kitchen floor. 
A hunt across the bedroom for youth and 
skin. A knife through the beast set free.
Chocolate furiously thrown down a throat. 
Post stick notes left on a fridge door. 
Gone for dinner, sort yourself out tonight. 
Pillows dislodged, curtains thrust open, 
beds unmade, it's not gonna hurt. Honey. 
Paperwork and lanterns. Relatives and friends. 
Long holidays and weekend breaks. Yearning. 
Cold comfort on a warm February morning. 

Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Chris

A little bubble on the edge of a big one. 
"Weirdo" the hoards chant at you., "Freak, unnatural, not right." In your head.
Trudging through grey cities, blankly noticing the colour. 
"Where's the point?" you question yourself. "When you love what's meant to be unlovable." 
Betrayed and hot blooded. You were, are, like them, cut, buffed, blonde hair, blue eyes, 
a picture of perfection. You rebuffed enough in the name of knowledge. 
Lusted for protection, for the great black bird to stop hovering over you. 
Swooping down when it sees easy prey, casting them to the deserts, leaving them at sea.
Caged within a cage. Just longing, weeping, looking at freedom like the forbidden fruit. 
"I'm alone." You say to yourself, in the dead of the night. And you walk, just walk. 
Not turning up anymore, not really. You're there but not here.
Black and white in a coloured world. 

Until you walk away. You go to the allies, the backdoors, the abandoned. 
Sit, in a corner, next to rubbish and orange brick wall. Your legs drawn up to you, 
head leaned against your knees. Dyeing the floor blue. 

And then comes Peter. You look up swift, 
Seek his hair, slow your eyes to excite.
Knights, pawns and kings. He saunters in, smiling. Shift. 
Darkness rolls over your board, tinged white. 
You still look up for the dark bird. Is this right? 
Need the key to the cage. Want to be brave. 
Leaving sport. Taking poetry and flight. 
So you speak to him. It's a tidal wave.
Like Apollo's weight gone. Things get on track.  
Meetings in the mists and dates in the dim.  
The bird’s elsewhere, there's a door at the back. 
He sneaks in, through the dark, you smile with him.  
He takes off your clothes, you feel hands swim
Looks like Poseidon. It's summer with him.

On a friday night, you've been out, just about, nothing bad, you feel a little mad. 
You had strong stuff, he keeps calling your bluff, you say bye, he's a little shy. 
You kiss, don't want to miss. You're seen, by that girl, who everyone knows. 

There's a flood, the night turns from neon to black. He hugs you, you stay with him. 
Your calendar said no but it was going to happen. He tries to stem the flow from the wound. 
"It'll be alright, trust me, what's the worst that could happen?" 
"You could leave, I could be shunned, I don't wanna be hated." The black bird spotted you, 
round the back of the cage for a quick snog. You should have just shot it. It can't really 
hurt you, up there in the sky. Your legs are intwined, as you stay up all night. Thorns
on your mind. He strokes your arms, doesn’t hit the lights. A fire rages, a new bird is born. 
"Did you hear? Did you know?" A text here and there. "What'd you think? What a waste." 
You find an army waiting, spears are thrown, you take hit after hit. "Is it true?" 
You say… Yes. They're mad, don't turn bad. "Why didn't you say? I would have been happy."
And those who do what you thought... the black bird chases them, of into the fen. 
And you find that you're there, at that final destination, elation, you just had to be patient.

Summer has gone and you still look back. To when you were so secret, why were you that?
The bird was sent down, relinquished its crown, the new one rose, that's right you suppose.
You wander, but this time with friends, and you smile, at what you can add to your pile.

Sunday, 18 November 2012

Realities Fantasy

Minus minuets, make me small.
Zero light and tiny sounds,
no smell and little taste. 
Nothing but a privation of feeling. 

Four thirty and still no buzz. 
Fabric and lipstick, you look good. 
The trees for the wood. 
The floor for the sky. 

Music with laughter. 
Tears with kisses and words, 
that stir. Water cascades and 
fireworks. Intoxication. 

Eyes across a dance floor. 
Drinks and taxies. 
Bedsheets and latex. 
Headaches and phone numbers. 

Talk of books and TV, 
who won that thing we both watch? 
Mutual friends and schools. 
Curtains and smashed dishes. 

Awakening, clouds and pillows. 
Dogs barking and people yelling. 
Regret fear envy lust longing sorrow. 
The trudge away, the reality. 

Wednesday, 1 August 2012

Monsters Under The Bed

Green eyed monsters seem to leap from your eyes every time you look at her. 
What do you want? Her sunset? Her miracle? Her song? 
No. You want what she's got. 
But the moment you board that ship you want to jump over board. 
Hands linger on flesh, caress, barley touch.
Twelve summers, to your thirty one. 
The kicks fly, they arc, but come down. 
Hands swoop, like birds spotting prey. 
Grey, white, a future flashes in front of her eyes. 
A rainbow flows from your very being. 
A lone fly dangles from a web, until the spider comes. 

Saturday, 30 June 2012

Liquid Monsters

I watch as you shoot happiness into your arm, 
As you begin to drown in your own euphoria. 
I see it ebb into everything you do. Your life, 
Swallowed by liquid monsters, your undoing 
Is done in front of my eyes. 

Flesh seems to melt of your bones, 
Money becomes fluid and is sucked away, 
People, who used to swarm to you like bee to honey, 
Flee like your fire. Your skin tightens. Eyes darken. 

We don’t get you back, not the one we wanted. 
You die. Or you may as well have.

Saturday, 16 June 2012

Dream Diary

So I've been having a lot of crazy dreams lately. And some of them are pretty whack, I don't know where my head comes up with all this stuff. So I thought because there more creative than I am being lately that I'll write my latest one down:

It's set in this massive perfectly round citadel. With a low wall going all the way round the edge, with the city inside being a kind of shanty town of houses. Out from the citadel is nothing but perfect green meadows and in the distance are snow capped mountains. Also running around the edge are train tracks. But they're suspended high above the ground, above the entire city, on high stilts. I'm now somehow on this train which just goes round and round in circles on this track and I report to a woman sitting at a desk behind a ton of boxes with vinyl records in them. I've reported to become a radio DJ and she begins to show me to where i'll be broadcasting from. We move a long the train. Some of the compartment are like normal trains. But others are like sleeper compartment. We get to a bathroom with a massive bathroom, the water tipping to one side all the time cause the train never stops moving. She then slides open a secret panel and we go through a secret passage. We step around a corner and then are in a more run down bathroom, with an old style empty bath. We both stand in the empty bath and hold onto the shower curtain rail. I ask her whats going on and she tell me we're about to travel in time. I look at her confused as the roof opens. The underneath us a giant spring releases and we're propelled into the air. This was where the dream ended.


Thursday, 14 June 2012

Hope


A small light penetrates the dark. Lying in bed, trying to sleep, he sees the dim glow. Alcohol, sex, money, drugs, life... Infinity spiraling in front of him are his years. He see’s it for what it is in that moment. And he’s sees it is nothing. Curled up however he feels the force. The uncontrollable unexplainable force that tell us to go on, that there is some sort of purpose. He names in a survival instinct, but really we’re all just scared of the dark. Well no, we’re not scared of the dark, we’re scared of whats in it, or more importantly, whats not in it. 
Lying in bed he sees the small specs of a larger world. He says there’s nothing out there. Life is pointless and all he wants are simple pleasures. He kids himself into believing there is not greater purpose. 
In the darkness he feels the warm embrace of drink, standing idly back as it consumes his body and demons drag it away. In the breaks he feels the solid comfort of money, the small promise of safety and life in simple numbers. In the wilder, insane specs of his existence he feels his being get killed and turn to euphoria in one insane swipe. And then in his slow, monotones life he feels the sweat and pleasure of the human condition. 
But then, he doesn’t see the light, he notices it. He looks upon dawn and decides it’s for him. He kicks the floor and demands it’s his. But as he does it withdraws. He fails, he lives, he dies. 

Wednesday, 4 April 2012

Exit Wounds


I wander in and out of colours.  
A massive chess boards with red and blue pieces,
Tree’s made of lego and houses made of books. 
I swim in an ocean of oranges juice, 
Walk along talking to my shadow. 
I saunter into darkness. 
A black, knowing smirk looks down on me. 
Dark haunted eyes watch me turn in fear, 
But behind me no longer exists. 
I see flashing lights, red triangles and bright orange. 
Then darkness, then I fall, then reality restores. 

Thursday, 29 March 2012

Black, White and Colour


The world in front of me is black and white.
While only I walk in colour, I see my family in colour. 
Cold comes and cold goes but that’s all that’s bright. 
Until one day you seem to fill in, you’re fuller. 
The blonde of your hair, the blue of your eyes. 
A second, the smouldering brown the jewel green. 
I look up and see the clouds, see the colourless skies. 
You don’t shock me, though it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. 
In front of me lie two colours, blue and red. 
Red burns bright, I almost feel it on my skin. 
Blue beckons me, it takes over my head. 
I want to choose one so my life can begin. 


*Poem taken from one of my narrative's 

Monday, 19 March 2012

By The Sun, By The Edge

Heaven would be a hell of a place. 
Watching eyes in the walls wait for me to slip up. 
I rock the corner, the tiny part of my world lights up with blue, 
Snow covers the ground of my existence, I shovel it away, 
But it just tumbles back on top of me. 
I make snow angels. I look at the never comig sun. 
I watch as I go over horizon and horizon, the sun sets 
Somewhere in the distance, behind the edge of the universe. 
But then it comes up to me, and I look and realize I’ve lost everything 
In a sea of sorrow, my wants drowned. Now I fling myself of the edge 
But then you grab me by the collar, turn me round and say. 
“Go to the edge on the other side” And I smile. As me and her go 
To save my wants. 

Sunday, 11 March 2012

Inverted Worlds

Swimming in a sea of bed sheets
We drive a drown and drive again. 
Running on a road of feathers 
Passing nowhere and heading to nowhere. 
Climbing a mountain of stairs
Reaching the summit we pulsate. 
Light streaks through the rafters, 
Columns of dust sway in a non existent breeze. 
Ribbons flare over the purple sky. 
They duck and dive, tensing the orange water
Next to the blood red grass. Alone a single doves wanders. 
Inverted is the world alone, half of it missing. 
In bed sheets she wakes, colors in the right place. 
Flesh still next to hers, life still in her veins. 

Tuesday, 7 February 2012

Empty Battlefield

I think I know every detail of the floor.
My eye's refuse to give into my desire to look,
My breath doesn't want to be steady.
I feel my arms shake, my fingers grasp at empty air.
The life around me is being sucked away,
I would give it to you if I could.

The results say I'm wrong. But I know I'm right.
Heaven and hell are going to war but I don't know which is which.
Fire laps the skin of my existence, threatening to destroy my world.
Yet excitement rises in my heart.
Clouds drift by, a long summer day, friends away, emptiness in the world.
Yet, this is simple, this is right.

At the centre of the battlefield I wait, ready to be consumed.
I will it to happen but it never does, nobody ever charges for me.

Friday, 3 February 2012

You and I, Love and Hate.


I live in a circle full of warmth. 
You live with the doors closed, but the ice still gets in. 
I live under sunlight, I see clearly. 
You live under darkness, your blind. 
You throw the dart but miss the target.
I sit and watch it fly by without flinching.
You pull strings and move puppets into place at will. 
I take hands, smile for a smile in return. 
I don’t love what I hate.
You hate what you love. 
They say we’re both stupid.  
We both know it’s true.  

Wednesday, 25 January 2012

Inferno

Ember floats from atlantis to land on the hay at my feet, 
it sits suspended for a moment the catches as if late for the bus. 
Fire slowly builds until it engulfs me. 
You look at me and wonder why I'm on fire, why would i do that?
But only you can put me out, you life is my water. 
But i’d rather blaze forever than feel your cold embrace. 
Then when you touch you catch fire to. 
Smoke signals everyone of our flames, they cheer us on 
We burn together, two fire become one. 
I fall of a cliff but you tug me back before i hit water
Our Inferno builds brighter and hotter
And even as we leave this earth are fire still ranges. 
We set fire to the world. 
We let it know what fire feels like. 
We burn forever. 

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

For As Long As We Both Shall Live


Smoke rises, beams of light are caught in it’s grip. 
The sun isn’t what it used to be, it’s changed the the world which it used to give life. 
Forever dusk, ash never settles. 
Crack appear, small at first but then they span out and consume. 
Things shift, once sturdy positions are now uncomfortable. 
The dust resettle after things find a new resting place. 
She smiled, it was like the sun had found a new vent. 
Connected, their eyes are glued, but by will.
They circle, towards there own destruction. 


Monday, 9 January 2012

The Zombie Diaries - Part 5 - The Thin Line


*All speech has been translated from Russian 
The first item is a order sent to army basses all over Russia. 
Because of the recent epidemic of the unknown virus the government has ordered the set up a line of defence against the infected heading towards russia through Europe. So the military will dispatch you to our border and you will form a line across the continent and hold it till a cure is found. See included information for where you will be dispatched. 
*An Interview conducted with the only known veteran of the russian dead defence. Currently living in a psychiatric ward in the only know siberian settlement.  
The dead defence followed the old russian border almost perfectly starting in the most Northern part that bordered estonia then going south going through other countries to maintain the straight line and also cutting out part of our own. Then it came to the north east tip of the black sea. The line went directly east from there until it met the Caspian sea and thats was it. We only protected ourselves for Europe and even that didn't work out, we never thought it would spread in asia so quickly, or that there would be infected coming from Alaska or Canada. Pretty soon after the army moved into place along the line it was seen how they were spread to thin, conscription was brought in, only in Moscow at first but after the promise the army would be the first to get the cure when it was ready many sighed up without hesitation. 
But the whole thing was ridicules I remember the darkness pressed against my eyes, the rain and the mud was all I could see. I don't know how I was suppose to protect my country like that, they’d promise big flood light but they were always late on. If a hoard of dead came at us we would be finished, it’s not like they hate the rain, or water, those stories about infected rising from the black sea might not be true but I'm damn glad I wasn’t on that front. I paced my section of the trench for about half an hour, it was up to who ever was in  charge of there section of line on how to guard it, we decided to build bunkers but it was slow going, supplies were thin and we have only just enough men to guard and build at the same time. Some parts of the line had simple chain link fences while others have barricades made from anything imaginable, cars, houses, whole towns converted into a long stretch of wall that went on for ever, I saw the picture on the news when I got of duty sometimes. 
All we had was a trench for the foundations of what should be a concrete house, it seems a little permanent to me, this amazing multipurpose building that will make are line impassable by anything. When Europe got quiet, in those days when it stayed there and we thought it had stopped, all of russia got tense, we knew there were millions of dead in there, helicopters and planes have flown over places like Berlin and Paris, they say that they wander aimlessly around the streets. I remember them talking about the groups that survived in there though, the refugee thats made it out and the bunker in london that was trying to make a cure.
I remember it all kicker of just as the lights switched, they illuminated the entire field on front of us and it was just in time cause a torso was crawling towards me. When it saw the lights it began to crawl frantically, I still wonder how it lost it’s legs, someone probably should have done a better job of finishing it of. To my left someone impatient finished it off. It slumped down not far from the line, I may have been examining it a bit to long cause it had gotten pretty close. The rest of that night was pretty quiet until it got to dawn. Just as I was beginning to get light I remember I saw it, in the distance was a hill and just on the crest was a swarm of undead. Im not talking about a few dozen there were fucking hundreds of thousands of the bastards. 
For the first time I understood why people called it the walking storm. You see it in the distance at first, it was like the earth was moving, like a land slide. They were running, stampeding, towards the line, there was no way we were ever going to stand up to them, and then the storm hits you, but I wish it was a storm. Several people started firing into the horde, only a few fell, the trained soldiers, were managing head shots whereas the civilian  army just fired blindly into the mass and most managed to hit but no where lethal, they only hit due to the sheer mass of bodies of course. 
*He looks of into the distance for a moment wide eyes like being back there. 
My commanding officer, was grabbed by one of them and then they all piled on, I remember the look of cheer terror in his eyes as they ripped each limb of his body and starting chewing on them, I managed to get him in the head, I'm sure he appreciated it but I still wake up at night thinking… what if that was me. 
*He shudders at the thought of the pain. 
I remember that I didn't shoot one bullet into those thing that night, I only killed him.  As soon as they were upon as simply ran, I’m not sure whether I did the right thing but I know I wouldn’t have made a difference. About two minuets after jets flew over head, they fired into the hoard, I’m sure it helped but it’s not like there human, the ones that get totally vaporised would be gone for sure but they ones who got just burt or an arm blown of, there still walking now. 
*He looks out the window as if to see them approaching now. 
I ran and ran and ran. Got on the evacuation trail into siberia. Lucky I guess, damn lucky. 
*He looks at the scars on his arms, with a look of curiosity, almost wondering how he got them. He asks who I am and what I'm doing here.