Poetry, portfolio

My heart sits next to me on the bed,
Beating, steadily,
Rhythm, red ink, quiet,
White sheets stained blood-red

I stare at it.
It stares back.
“What next?”


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Poetry, portfolio

So this is it
The unadulterated dream…
Time’s crept up on me,
And now I’m sat here
Writing half-assed poetry
Listening to old CDS,
Smacking my lips…

Gin to settle the loneliness,
The occassional cigarette
To take off the edge.
Hips a little wider,
Skin a little thinner
Yet much thicker, too…

Add a healthy dose of anxiety,
And a dash of depression,
With rent and bills,
Perhaps the most consistent friends…

All the babies, engagements,
Ladies who lunch…
Holiday small talk passing office hours
And my boss’ bad breath.
Knowing the difference between
Tories, lib dems and MPs.

A walking nightmare
How the hell did this happen!!

I Carry You in My Pocket

Poetry, portfolio

I carry you in my pocket,
Jumbled with keys, loose change, and lint.

Once, you were quiet.
Like a leaf in the summer.
Unconcerned, undeniably ignorant.

And then you grew,
I the princess, you the pea.
A small presence, perhaps,
But growing harder to bear…
You exhumed your roots into me.

Now you scream and shout

I press you deep, deep, into my leg,
Before anybody hears you.
Oh God, God forbid, anyone should hear you.

My fingers and pupils are stained with you.
But when I look, they are clean…
Are you in my hair, my teeth?

Mirror, mirror, tell me true,
Tell me the damned truth.

“You already know, my darling.
Look, see – and the bees
Nesting in your lungs
Will finally be free.”

Poetry, portfolio

Not quite pain,
Not soft, not rough.

My back burns
My lobster hands, un-phased.
Water reddens my skin
And I am cleaned as a steamed suit.

The toaster no longer
Exalts it’s own pop-up reaction
From me.
My fingers turn crumpets easily.

And your name,
Not quite pain, nor soft, nor rough,
Brands my heart no more –

Time has numbed me,
But protected me, I’m unsure –

My hands still burn, see…
I’m afraid one day, they’ll scorch.