Tuesday, 28 December 2010

Welcome shadow

Above your towering shadow,
I peer.
I feel safe under your darkness.
No fear
Of being a nobody on my own.

Much preferring,
to be your malnourished clone.
To you,
so beautiful and vibrant,
the centre of everyones

The social butterfly in every
The men who dare to fall for you

Behind you a path of broken
From them, I learnt you could never

The hurt your glowing smile
and cheeky flirt gave.
Resulting these men to isolation in a
faraway cave.

Still they never learn.

For your charm and lure,
they only yurn.

In your shadow I see.
A beauty.
A class.
A coy
lost invisible girl.

Someone I no longer want
to be.


Decorate you're bedroom.
Change the che.

On rotation you fiddle with
and replace things.

Removing the new replacing
with the old.

But still it never fits.

An inch or a mile

You push and you tug.
Desperate for it to

Pushing harder and harder
breaking a sweat.

Over a past identity never


I see you gazing out
of the gate in desire.
Out of love,
your pain and need tire.

And you come to me.
Content and sighing.
Me and you
in hiding.


If you could see
behind the smiles
so pure and true.
She grins and sparkles
for you.

Wednesday, 15 December 2010

You're not the nice guy I thought you were.
Snogging her.
Drunk and off your face with success.
Who could want any less.
I wanted to be different. The one to make
you think. Give me a wink.
I heard all the stories of your ladies. With the
hope they didn't end in babies.

I want to still be with you. Help and inspire

Older and wiser I hope you see.

All the promise and hope that is good for you
from me.

"please leave me alone" she says. Hugging him.
Snowflakes reflected in

a heart shaped mirror

fluffy bundles of love

raining down on us all to share.

Everyone is touched by it's gesture.

Treasure them while they last it's only here to remind

you once.

On the train home. After seeing some
old faces with new love. I see in the
window. The reflection of the man sat
opposite me.

Clad in an old rocker t-shirt with
matching leather waistcoat and knee
high pirate boots.

Arms drawn in front of him lying limp.
Until a tune grabs them and hurls them
into action. Waving and swirling along
to admirable lip syncing.

All those in the carriage can hear old
school rockabilly thudding out of his
dated earphones. None complain.
Especially me. It's helping my hours dwindle
floating around his lung cancer odour.

A can of stella now safely clasped in one hand.
He mimes "What's going on". A passionate
tribute to his dusty i-pod spread on the table.
I sit back enjoying this mad man's
company. His Bravery.

Yes. The phone he checks regularly and ignores
the calls of. And the steady skipping at the shock
of an unfamiliar track. May suggest these articles
may in fact belong to someone else. A more
respectable mirror of his happy self.

But no. I think he's the real deal. The
head banging denim and leather wearing
golden oldie.
So now I sit here. Jealous as hell.
Look at him. Having a ball.
My little drunk pirate rockabilly.
Play on.