Untitled

There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,

Than anywhere but here you see

I’ve had enough of all this shit,

Liars, thieves and hypocrites

Surround me like a toxic cloud,

Enveloping me like a shroud.

I feel the grasp of death’s cold hand

Around my neck, I cannot stand

My legs go weak, my heart, it races

The thought of staying in these places

For any more of my precious time

That leaks from life like spilled vintage wine

That drips and pools upon the floor,

I’ve had enough, I’ll take no more

Unwarranted, unjust abuse,

I’ll seek escape and slip this noose

And dodge the axe above my head,

It’s not my time to join the dead

There’s life in me, I’ve more to give

So now I’ll take this life and live.

My Daughter Says

My daughter say’s “ga, ga goo”

But what she means is “I love you”

Or perhaps she needs a nappy change,

The look upon her face is strange.

Damn, is this a poo-face or sick-face?

Take a gamble and then it’s a race.

But either way it ends in a mess,

Baby wipes out and another change of dress.

My frustration builds and I echo her screams

And my mind feels as though it is tearing at the seams

The sleep deprivation is taking it’s toll

I fight to maintain my last bit of control.

And then she looks up at me with her baby blue eyes,

My anger and frustration fades and then dies

And my heart swells with pride as she whispers my name,

“Dad” – with that one word nothing’s ever the same.

Rat Race to Rat Trap

I sit and tune out, like a wireless with a broken aerial

Because a static buzz is a better sound

Than this din of despair that is driven into my mind.

Fog-horn voices, hurricane of harsh opinions

Stated as fact.

Within this whirlwind I wait,

Treated like a rodent with the voice of a mouse

They tread on my tail and I squeak,

Scurry away to hide and await my fate,

The snap of a rat trap.

Girl in the Crowd

I see judgement on their faces,

An eyebrow slowly raises

When they catch sight of her attire,

As the escalator takes us higher

Their mouths form tiny o’s.

I’m sure a part of her must know

That she provokes such a reaction,

But she’s lost in interaction

With her controversial man,

Wearing guyliner and tan

Skinny jeans with ripped converse,

And yet still they see her first,

Her features marred by bits of metal,

Like a pin poked through a petal

From the daintiest of roses.

They all turn up their noses

For she’s not the same as them

And it’s so easy to condemn

Someone for individuality,

When you’re wrapped up in banality

And you’ve a mediocre life,

Never known a day of strife

Because your just part of the crowd,

Where different people aren’t allowed.

But what you don’t know is this,

That girl lives in a life of bliss

Because she’s free to be herself,

And that’s worth so much more than wealth

Or the comfort of being accepted,

So she’ll continue being rejected

Knowing she’s better than all of you,

‘Coz to herself she still stays true

And accepts you’re not the same

She’s the art, you’re just the frame.

Autumn in South Kensington

Out in the leafy suburbs of South Ken’

I watch the conkers fall

Onto beds of red, gold and brown.

I stare at sycamore seeds that

Take flight,

Drifting lazily

To float softly and airily down.

I see a sunset and sunrise

Through clear skies

Devoid of smog and smoke

And breathe deeply the clean air,

Expand my lungs and I don’t

Cough, splutter or choke.

Then I walk into the swollen belly

Of the mechanical beast

That is taking me underground

Back to the east.

My soul cries aloud,

For it knows that it

Will once again be lost

In a forest of concrete,

An air of contempt and an

Indifferent crowd.

Worry

I worry about things that I probably shouldn’t,

About things that other people probably wouldn’t.

About money even though I’ve got quite a good job,

About what sounds more professional, Robert or Rob.

I panic about parties and what I should wear,

The worry about my manliness as I really shouldn’t care.

I worry that hair gel will highlight my bald spot,

That I will never be satisfied with what I have got.

I worry that I’ll continue to strive and to fail,

An automaton reaching for that mythical grail.

But most of all I worry that I’m not good enough,

That I’ll do something stupid and hurt the people I love.

That they’ll look at me and on closer inspection

Will find me wanting and then hand me a rejection,

And I know that it’s just insecurity,

That it’s fear of being lost to obscurity.

That worrying is just like a rocking chair,

It passes the time but I’m getting nowhere.

Existential Thought No. 1

If home is where you lay your hat,
Then Heaven is where you lay your heart,
Where Angels flock about your head
To kiss your face
And with tears of joy, depart.