Three Feet Deep

Just when i thought i was in, the day pulls me to its dream and stops. Counting up the night, the minutes do get longer. Counting up the steps to sky, they seem sharper. I take one, second step for free, biting at my feet relief, waiting on a wound to heal.

Three feet deep and then set free, out of the landscape and into the sea.

Socks rolled up my ankles swelling, the ice as cold as it was ever. Swinging eyes proceed the crime, touch me up and down inside. I wonder out for seconds, stay for days. Alone in silence, asleep in crashing waves. Too weak echo, means nothing makes nothing me. But a sinner salt of likeness and a day of long deceit. Blue covered eye line far away in distance, i touch my hands to sunlight, it pushes for resistance.

Three feet deep and then set free, out of the landscape and into the sea. 

No not walked i, crawled out further as miles of open water shudders. Laid out like blanket beds, the sheets all sad with tears and wet. My body cold and old untold, freezing like October souls. We kept down the truth, its whole from where it came and went unknown. Still shapes be like an angel’s tether, to cook and burn and tar and feather. My design and our weather, kill the clocks for now forever.

Three feet deep and then set free, out of the landscape and into the sea.

Tide will soon drag me out and rush against my body’s cloud. In swimming loud, the water shouts, the tapping feet of a sea’s wet crowd. Three feet deep and still alive but only to see my spirit die. Nothing much if nothing lies, i’m three feet deep, and alone inside.

This is a poem about the hopelessness of feeling adrift in a world that is going too fast and not allowing a person a chance to find themselves. Find out who they are and what they are good at. Instead the expectation is on you to know who your are at a young age and what you need to do. Most people have no clue what they want to do or be, i mean its hard enough discovering other things about yourself at a young age, like your body, who your friends really are, who you really are, what you like in relationships and in life. But to also have to know what you want to be or to have as a career only adds to the pressure on a young person. It can feel hopeless to be in a world where there is so much expected of you and you think you are achieving what is expected of you. You should be doing more, making more of life but you cannot.


The Animals Inside / Breaking Rocks

The animals inside my head are working tirelessly today and yesterday, trying to perfect a maths equation to explain my thoughts. A + B = C if Abstract + Bittersweet = Closure. My dreams are one long mystery, there is room in there for everyone if everyone wants to feel this numb. The animals are doing overtime, i feel distraught, making them work for my love, i don’t have such resounding joy. They could tell me i have nothing but a persecution complex and a womb in distress, i still wouldn’t see it as such my mess. I’d still be busy dreaming of trees and thinking of feet. Always too late to the nightime parade. Dancing in the dark, a lifetime of harm, the animals inside my head shall disarm whatever comes before my morning alarm. 

Sometimes i do wonder what is going on inside that head of mine. I do imagine its been run by creatures who have afternoon tea and have swordfights dressed as gladiators using minature shoes as swords. Playful they are for sure and ready for anything its a crazy place in there with random everything and very little meaning to any of it!!

Breaking Rocks

With curtains closed and a head full of shame, i hear him breaking rocks outside of course, he/they chose today, today instead of any other day. keeping me awake, i would kill them if i wasn’t going to die anyway. I had too many drinks, way too many drinks, and too many minutes to think. Safe at 5 or 6, blown away at 10 and yet it went to capture me in, drag me down i have a face feel of cloud, and not one that sits quietly on a Summer sky but one that falls to earth with thunder hits then dies. A brick right now would finish me and i would thank it forever or even a drill, that drill the one destroying our street. Please drill my head instead, please leave me lost in memory and dead. I have come so far, i try to move, to somehow get closer to the end but in my hands and feet i know this day has only just begun to win..

This basically describes most of my early adult life! Destroying myself with alcohol and being unable to live normally and to suffer the consequences of my actions. There were days where i just wanted to leave and go somewhere to not have to listen to the outside world ever again. It taught me a valuable lesson… DO NOT DRINK SO MUCK!! Sadly an idea i should have paid more attention to at the time. 


End Of Dancing / Sweet Of Ceiling

End of Dancing 

Abstraction pole dancer, short in memory. Life on a limb, a rollercoaster to the end begin. She is long on dreams that have no meaning, she has wept herself dry of all her hopes and feelings. That obligation brings my friend, her limbs and takes her to the sky with sin. Dust on Knees, disease, born of salt and with no feet. Straight and bored to feel adored, pole dancing wheelchair bound ignored. Lifts up to what life will bring, her my friend, her highlights then the end. 

This is a poem about wanting desperately to be someone, to have a dream of being somebody but not having the chance to do what you always dreamed off. Life of cruelty, to be denied something always no matter how obscure it may be.

Sweet Of Ceiling 

The mash of mountains, everywhere and with everyone looking. Hoping they fall over almost like a picture in some 17th Century artwork. It looks like they are kinda half over, half side by side and still alive. It would take me and maybe a dozen more to push it fully over. Even then i’m not sure if it would always fall or ever be right cos where would we go to die? If having nothing to jump from, 6,000 feet up i feel the sky in my hair even for a seconds last despair. If it falls before me then i am stuck in sky’s delight, standing on nothing suspended in flight, legs so still as birds exist and shout at me to never flinch. Then i will need all my powers, to have hopeful dawn’s cold showers. What questions needed to keep me breathing, what strength it got from what its teaching. In everything its done my love, my glory, my mountain made, my sweet of ceiling. 

Sometimes feeling alone but surrounded by everything. Surrounded by skies and clouds and feelings and sadness and a mulitiplicity of what the world has to offer. Sometimes you just want things to feel smaller, to feel more secure to not have such huge expectations everywhere, to want to exists for yourself and only yourself in a world you can make your own. Sometimes you want those mountains to just disappear into the ground and to do things how you want to. 

Faceless Swirling

Every day i passed by that mirror window, and every day i was horrified, destroyed by what i saw, the smell of rotting vegetables somewhere in the background, the sight of me dumb and fully came around. Oh for moments of utter joy but for panic a mother cries to let out tears. Standing alone and trying to step back but frozen in my lonely soul, adrift unopened tragically unfound.

And every day there is the same sense of torture, forcing myself to look, forcing myself to face myself. But not wanting the aftermath, guilt swirls like wash holes, sinks of despair hoover up my abandonment the slowly disappearing self worth, not what it means to me or to anybody.

Nothing but wanting to feel, to believe i am something. The wider world would surely accept red skin if it helped in lab tests, if it helped cure cancer some day, cancer of my face, this disgrace the human race, a sequence so lost its sense of taste. My heart remains a picture, my soul a product mixture but all they see is the ugliness of youth, it gives a lie its only truth, to be aware they think me fool for not hiding it from view.

Sunday mornings 7am born and happy best time to live inside this lifetime, nothing to judge a person’s pure mistakes, no man alive to leave regret, all tucked up in homemade beds and me out here living free, living on the edge and 100 no upsets.

If i could wrap the dim light in plastic and carry it to Monday i would, heavy back or not i would, i would, in my dreams, in my head its all i feel all i will ever need to keep the voices from the deep. Don’t make me go back, i escaped once i will never go there again if it can be helped, the only voices now are my own, the only one that matters is here telling me it gets better, when you get older yes it gets better, thank you sweet voice you helped me believe when everything else was wrapped up in grief. To them gone days forever released, now i am me not perfect to see but no longer needing a mirror to heal.

There was a time in my life where i suffered from such confidence issues that at times it was overwhelming. When i was much younger my face especially was something i hated so much. I had quite a spotty face as a teenager and struggled to get around it and when i went to College it was always something i hated about myself and was always aware of it in a negative way, trying to hide it as much as i could. When i started working in the Supermarket i worked in there was this large section of the store entrance which had a long mirror under a bright light at the entrance to the store. Every time i walked past i would glance in it and it made me feel so self concious about my skin and about how i looked. There were times i found myself just standing there looking into it for seconds just staring and unwilling to stop almost trying to hurt myself maybe i don’t know. It seems silly now but at the time it was real and it was painful and i just wanted it to stop but couldn’t. I guess something like that we all go through as young people, hating ourselves in some way. The one day of the week i loved was Sunday as i could work at 7am when nobody was around and the light in the entrance was off so i could just walk past and it was dark or dim so i could shut it all out. That was the day i looked forward to most. Thankfully as i got older and moved around that pain went away and my face was no longer something i hated as much. But it is something i still keep with me always, not in a negative way as it taught me how to value myself more as i grew up a bit and became a bit more assured.

Too Many Torches, Not Enough Flames

Reading English literature of love, the one with glossy coloured endings, where the hero dies but such a man they never forget. He is talked about in the sunshine of proper days where trees are calm and a greater sense of purpose controls the everlasting. To ask for advice is to admit i need help, transfixing on the unattainable, spiritually spoiled revoked.

Nadirs of nobility cherished and swept away as princesses get treated like royalty far beyond the dress. This charming monster, blond and lost, this sword in smiling quick and taut. A word of warning to those who think its easy, it takes work to be this good, it takes such time to make a lady feel this good and stay forever in her mind. One day she could give it back but not for all the lords in Hammersmith.

Not Sinatra positioning, girls like to feel amused, happy, sweet and always the twinkle in an eye consumed. But for me too many torches and not enough flames, for my heart in bunches blitzed, burning with desire, hot and heavy days.

Where is love’s perspective gone? When all its became is competition to see who can love the most, to see who can give the most. That is not aspirations lost, that is tragedy in its fullest bought. I would rather love for a thousand lonely days than be loved for all the money i have ever made. I would sweep aside the nightmare in moonlight and just delight in being her crush one December night.

Who wrote these fairytales? They seem happy if slightly disturbed, I’m not sure this life is truly rewarding, for them it seems more like its cursed. But princes be kings amongst men, to teach us our story, to chapter us the end, but i have got mine in a box and in a bin not out of sadness but more out of sin. She will take hearts the day she has mine, its my love story, in beauty, truth and in neverending time.

I Once Was Loved

I once was loved, by everybody who ever lived. I was god if god wore clothes that barely fit, but still knew i was fucking god and damn, i could not be stopped. Life went on i all disguise, burned up bland and almost my demise, that night got lost and slowly stayed awake, alive.

To avoid depression, to exhonarate existence and gently reclaim back my strength from shallow self resistance. The majesty of shadows lurking, my conscience eats at me like crazy. To slay self worth and fabricate delusion, to be brave not scared amid the torture and confusion.

Are we saints yet? Are we made of glass? I know i am god, your son no question still so soon not asked. I once was loved by anybody who ever lived but it was never near enough, i needed them to leave to feel truly loved again. Not the fakeness of all tragedy and its safeness, not the lexicon exploding all over my soul’s unfolding.

The edge of living comes with risks, i ran them once or twice or more but still came home, bruised and sick remorse, the constant knocking on the door. In terror everything real feels real no more. Sentimental journey into my insanity and temporary wisdom from the weak and fragile, who dare speak what they mean who dare tell me that i am wrong. 

Excuses for the poor, fillet for the rich of moral harbour docking with every lonely ship. That’s always the extreme for casualties some live some die, some stay scarred through every life. And stay warm, try, a cloak at night be better of dead than barely alive. A wielding wheelhouse of hatred, a sudden blessing of exhale in phases.

The remains of everything lost those days and boxed up, too begone to somewhere with no postcode and with nothing left to say. Truest fallen victim, left to lie in silence but at least with remorse and dignity be still inside a beating heart. The shattering of memories, replaced by cherishing new energy. I once was loved by everybody and every ghost but now i feel more loved by those who i truly love the most. 

This poem was inspired by my experiences in my youth. Feeling a sense of being an outsider and being alone then finding a way too fit in, to be happy, to meet people to find what i was looking for. Sadly i could only do this through taking drugs and making stupid choice, ones which at the time seemed like what i needed but really were just a temporary way of easing my lonliness and making me feel a part of something. Being philosophical i guess maybe its what i needed back then even if it wasn’t the way to go about it necessarily! Finding joy in something chemical is ultimately not a real joy but more of a link between 2 parts of my life that need to be bridged. From being unhappy teenager/ young adult to being an in control/fully expressive grown adult. It ultimately nearly killed me but gave me the strength to approach the rest of my life with a different outlook, a more cherished view on myself, on people, those close to me. The ones i really love and who love me. The road it took to get there was not easy but in the end it made me who i am today.

One Magical Night In A Lifetime

“A man reserves his true and deepest love not for the species of woman in whose company he finds himself electrified and enkindled, but for that one in whose company he may feel tenderly drowsy.” —- George Jean Nathan

A wild and dividing world, collapsing into something beautiful and new. I see a face from Heaven’s edge, her hair, her eyes her forever youth. The never  attracts the one  you always wanted, the true desire in all those dreams, even the heartbreak is magnificent somehow.

If i could have one thing, one time, one moment to capture and live eternally it would be the slow dance to “Lovesong”. I’m almost certain Robert Smith knew i loved her, i’m sure that song was written especially for us, a piece of beauty from his heart to ours. As if nobody else ever existed in a world that we have conquered by ourselves and with no help, alone and yet never ever lonely, not while i have you.

I held her so close to me, i could feel her soul reach out and breathe. I held her where no world could fit, between not even for a second split. And whispered her the sweetness in my mind, morning glory would befall we put this night on rewind. And play it again when we get old if she still adores my heart, i will still love her soul. Through any darkness our love still grows into every sunlight like a river where it flows.

One magical night in a lifetime, endlessly perfect and sweetly alive                                      One magical night in a lifetime, joyfully consumed and gloriously bright.

As i saw your lips so softly jump into another feeling, another minute to display perfection i knew myself i had everything i ever wanted, i had you and this was warm, timeless and so especially removed from all of what life can give, what pain and anger an all that sadness brings. This was everything it was not, this was magic in a forest fog. No suffering no time to think just hours alone in love, in sync.

With all shut doors and crown of noise, “Lovesong” plays as we rejoice. Where not another man on earth has heard this song or being this loved, where not another stronger world could understand, the closeness it has caused, I swear i can taste her Summer, in every breath, in every strand of hair, she takes nature and gives it life everywhere and gives it relevance to it she says “I care” 

One magical night in a lifetime, endlessly perfect and sweetly alive.                                      One magical night in a lifetime, joyfully consumed and gloriously bright. If we could slow dance in my dreams tonight, i would slow dance with you all my life, through utter darkness into daylight, you my princess sweetest beauty of time.