Monday, 28 March 2011

I've Got A Secret

The crushing obsessions like fearful waves
Crash over my mind in a matter of days.

Rata-tat-tat there goes the guns
To stun the blood pulsing through my veins,

It's the same effect of a thousand sparkling suns,
Clouding my concentration, taking hold of the reigns.

Alcohol can't quench this kind of thirst,
Trust me I've tried, and the memory still haunts in the pitts of my eyes.

You could wash it out with a slither of soap,
Or put a dirty sock in your pie hole to stop the blackbirds blurting out your desires.

And when the pure innocent few stop and stare at you,
Stare at the sticky fingerprints trailed all over town, all over his body, the heaps of fires...

...Burning at your concience.

Friday, 25 March 2011

Just A Hug

The fatefully slowed breathing of love in motion;
See the emotion pass behind the green curtains of his eyes.
And his heartbeat has to be deceitful because
Through the layers of flesh which separates our souls,
My heartbeat is running at a million miles an hour.

The curls of his locks flick down like raining smiles.
See the waxing and waning of my strength, my will,
And although these kind tender hands holding mine are forbidden,
I can't choose which soft sinking lip to kiss first.

The truths I weave into my whispered words are hidden,
See, I won't let myself break his unbelievable heart.
And when I stare up at his entirety, surrounding  me,
There is a starstruck couple of mixed-up teenagers for one moment, no longer lonely. 

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

The Promises Which Come With Birds

The pink little longtail tits rattle around the bare bones of the hedgerow.
Surley I'm close enough to scare them,
Take them and drag them into the depths of my pocket...
But they play.

Summer must be a commin'.

Hanging off the veranda, sun slapping my face, cradling a mug and hangover in hand.
Surely I should still be wrapped up,
Cucooned in the frame of another pair of arms shadowing me from a bleak winter's sky,
But I'm reveling the first booze-up of the season.

Summer must be a commin'.

Lazy daisies and stagnant daffodils, bloomin' lovely and wide among the frigid crocuses.
Surely it's too early,
For flowers to fly and slip out of their roots, reach for the sky,
Greeting the cars at the roadside.

Summer must be a commin'.

And even though I woke up this morning to the frightening shades of blue,
Surely they will melt away,
The droplets running through the long grass that cussions my feet,
That I fell and slept upon only a memory ago.

Summer must be a commin'







Friday, 4 March 2011

Part of a story I may or may not continue :P


The sunlight lazily rested on my face, stroking my cascade of dark hair on the pale hardwood floor. The warmth it brang pricked at my eyelids, stimulated fine hairs on my arms.  Eventually, my eyelids creaked apart. Each eyelash slowly released the one opposite, in a mascara coated rebellion. Air accelerated into my lungs; a sharp contrast the plodding pace it had maintained for the last few hours. The sting was enough to fling me upright and force fingers to clasp my head, to steady the eager world.
The room was decorated with teenager’s bodies, reminiscent of no-man’s-land. Except no-man’s-land didn’t have anywhere near as many sequins. A salty breeze foamed out of a short window and mingled with the underlying perfume of alcohol, grease, sweet sweat and lynx. In the blinding morning light I could see how bare the room was. Only an upturned rusty red loveseat and browning potted plant accompanied the stark kitchen cabinets and few appliances. There wasn’t even a stove. Where was I? Who owns a sink and fridge but not a stove? Dust drifted off the chalky blinds and showered over platinum blonde hair, ripped jeans and skinny limbs, to land delicately- as if concerned over the teenagers awakening. The silence was so peaceful it made me ashamed to be awake.
 I sprayed my hands firmly over the floor, in preparation for an attempt at standing. My back arched in a last delay... and a swift hand clamped to my arm, fingers gingerly digging into the flesh, and hauled me up. “Yay, you’re alive!” croaked a familiar voice. Emmy’s hands swerved under my elbows to balance me until I was stable. Emmy laid her sleeping mobile phone on the corner of the kitchen counter as she steadily swept across the room toward the sink. The thought of following her made my stomach protest, by pressing against my navel and squealing rudely. “Em...”. Emmy had already filled a tumbler with water and pressed it into my hand. “Drink. Now.” I held the glass to my lips, but hesitated from drinking. My eyes tightened, lips gapped open, and my throat rawly embraced the water.  A minute or two later I handed Emmy back the tumbler. “Better?”
 “Hmmm...” I groaned, faltering to tell her the truth. “...Little bit”
“I’ll get you another” She sighed. I stretched my arms and took another gaze around the room. Two people were jammed in the gap between the sanded floor and the overturned loveseat, a boy and a girl I thought I might know. Far more people hung on top of the loveseat, and three others had joined me on the floor. Behind me where three shelves, but they only held dust and a plastic cup of red wine. Probably mine. Emmy padded towards me in stripy socks that muffled her movement, shrouded her in a haze of cotton and softness. A bit too hastily I grabbed the tumbler and downed the contents without caring what it was. This water was colder, sharper than the first drink. Good. Water silently dripped from my lower lip when I lowered the glass, which I then placed next to Emmy’s phone. She had perched herself on the end of the kitchen counter, staring absently out the window without blinking at the intensity of the morning. “How come you’re up?” I asked. A soft chuckle that escaped her lips disturbed the dust. “Didn’t go to sleep in the first place”. As she turned her head a grin broke across her face. I noticed now the rainbows of eyeliner hugging her eyes, fraying, greying not far from the rims. She looked beautiful and dilapidated at the same time.
We sat on that kitchen counter for another twenty minutes or so, just listening to the buzz of traffic circling the base of the block of flats. Seagulls circled overhead too, and pounced at assorted crisps scattered on the balcony. The baron view was hardly interesting, yet managed to hold our interest with invisible gravity. Something, and we wern’t sure what, told us to wait.