Thursday, 29 December 2011

Dear you.

Please oh please,
Leave the bottle alone.
Let the day's pain ease away,
By the song of the love that sits beside you.
Dear oh, dear oh you.
Don't let me go,
Don't let me be alone, without you.

Wednesday, 28 December 2011

The Monster and a Game of Chess.

You say that you are mean,
        That you are a bad person,
                  Who uses people,
                            For your own gain.
And you say this behind your clever spectacles,
And your handsome stare.
Usually facing between my shoulders, but somewhat beside my head.
Your mind is thinking of a distant person,
Who you can't quite touch.
I wish I could give you the link, but I only got in the way.
My foolish desire for you to be happy,
Led me to give you such ideals there were beyond your hand.
It is because of me that you suffered, and will suffer.
Because I am the mean person that you so think you are.
I know what it takes to be truly mean;
One must act blindly, become reckless, become foolish.
You act only with immense thought.
Even if you're actions are selfish,
They are not irrational.
You know who your friends are, and you recognise that friendship.
I don't even see the faces on the pawns I throw forward.
And then when I do,
It is often too late.
A few regrets that I burden,
Are using those who are honest and truly kind,
In a bitterly twisted game.
You have a clean and colourful path,
Even if you see only grey.
One who has painted so much anger and caused conflict,
can recognise and only admire a picture of serenity.
I touch your image for a moment,
and see that I marked the canvas.
I am decaying your wonderful gallery,
With a sickening burden of darkness.
I should leave, but I don't know anywhere else,
That burns a welcoming fire so brightly,
As you.

Thursday, 22 December 2011

My friend

I wanna sing,
In caramel blues,
Holding your hand,
Streetwalkin' through the town.
Rooftops sing along with daytime city birds.
Ol' smell of dust and dirt,
Taint the ice cream parlours with a lively fume.
Cup of coffee,
Down the street.
Smilin' all the way home.
Living a life with you.



A long unearthly synth,
sends giant waves that pulse,
Shattering the black mirror,
- The dark ghostly void,
- The grey mask,
- The broken frame.
Fragments scatter across the feet,
Piercing the senses,
Revealing hidden truths.
Emotion bursts into the inner-soul,
With colours that can never be seen,
But only be heard.
The rhythm floods the gates,
of the chambers in the heart,
As the mind draws near,
To the essence of sound.

Tuesday, 20 December 2011

Sometimes it's simple things.

I used to call you everyday.
You were amazing.
Thank you.

Twisted World

You were sick. And I tried all I could, but I couldn't fix you.
Your broken pieces covered the ground,
And I couldn't bare to look any more... So I...
Painted them. With as many colours as I could.
Feeling that it wasn't enough,
I placed bows on your arms,
And glitter on your feet.
I drew very carefully on your hands,
Little pictures of birds and angels.
And before I knew it,
The pieces I loved so much were beautiful.
And then I realised, that you too,
covered me with stars.
I now look in the mirror, and you stand beside me.
Despite living in a twisted world,
We make the sky look beautiful.

Monday, 19 December 2011

(It's between the lines)

And so you hurt me.
You dug your claws into my wrists,
and you wouldn't let go until you were perfectly satisfied.
And when your rage dimmed down,
And your fingers stained red,
You would leave quickly,
told me I was the one to blame,
that I was the one who caused the pain-
The blood splatter on the walls.
Thank goodness you're gone now.
You were a bloody mess.

Sunday, 18 December 2011

Emotions are stored in jars.

Emotions are stored in jars.
And there is a lid on mine – quite a tight lid, and it's a little hard to open. Only I don't try. I wave my jar in the air and claim it's full, always exaggerating it's contents. In reality, beyond the label I put on the jar, the contents are empty.
And I know I could try and catch the waves of a shore, and see if enough of the sea would flow inside, but my jar just will not open and my hands don't want to open the jar, in case there is something in there that shouldn't be. Something that needs to be cleaned for the water inside it to be fresh and whole.
And I could grasp happiness with cupped hands – only it would last a short moment and then seep through as if it never existed. Trying to maintain a firm quantity is tiring.
I look at others and see that they use buckets instead of jars to collect. I don't have a bucket. I arrived to the beach with only a spade, and there is no moat without water. No complete sandcastle can be made without a bucket. But a sandcastle isn't want I want to build at this moment in time, just a simple moat would do, if only I could. But with only the sand to touch and remain with constantly... It is like a desert. A plain world with little else. And when you have a few cactuses in your desert, a few rocks along the beach, it makes you only wish that you had a container, rather than a spade to bury burdens that will only sit still and never rot away.


Sometimes when I am alone and have time to kill, I will sit by a bus shelter and write very short stories called flash fiction with my mobile phone.


I stood outside your door, I couldn't think anymore. As I left your children playing music I decided to see you tomorrow.


Kind of cold, out on the streets, not doing really doing anything. I like the smell of the restaurant nearby, it's sweet and so tasty its as if I'm eating the air. Kind of... Just sitting here, appreciating the sounds in the distance, the hum of the bus and wow, the guitar plays through so loud as if its in my room. Its sound is unrecognisable yet so distinct in its electric buzz, pardon me but its even distorted a little! When this sound stops I think and feel alone again. As the sound returns it wakes me from a bad sleep. Neither my toes nor fingers feel as cold as they should, and my neck, though reminding me swiftly that writing my thoughts on a phone isn't convenient especially when I can't spell, doesn't feel achy as it should. This makes my cold feel better and the streets look beautiful. I still sit, the bus behind me comes so close to the shelter I sit up a bit, as the street lights dazzle and the music sings


Diamonds sometimes pass the opportunity to visit their more dull and colourless cousins. I'm not a diamond – not from that make up at all, but even though I'm hardly a spark I still wave my hand at things that I should say hello to. I will always admire those who say yes instead of maybe. Sitting help with zilch to do, I quietly tell myself – next time, defiantly next time, I'll say yes.


When I said kind of cold, I meant really cold. The streets now play their usual night melody – icy wind, shaking trees, a few cars, and a couple of buses roaring impatiently. Brr, why did I stay for so long so pointlessly? Now by some odd motion of wind my right face freezes as I wait for the bus to come, something that may take a long time indeed – I don't know, I didn't really check the second time and the first time hasn't came and now I'm struggling to type but actually I'm ok, I got to go out today, minus the disaster. Oh boy. I hope he didn't notice. Maybe I won't... No. I want to. I really do. He must think me a creepy. Oh, I really hope he wasn't behind me so much. I hope this bus comes soon I'm freezing! I keep looking but no luck, the kind gentleman beside me cleared my seat from his litter, my legs are cold maybe I should have walked. Frozen mind too cold to think sense. I'm. Just. Waiting.

Saturday, 17 December 2011

Foresight is one thing, assuming is another.

Things are never what they seem.
Nor can they ever been seen.

Predicting the future is not realism.
Therefore, the fruits that sit above the leaves can be any kind of your choosing.

To live

Lets not grow to be beautiful.
Lets grow to be happy.
Let us colour the wonderful canvas we have been given.
The final picture is yet to come.

The journey before the flame


Pen on paper.
Ring on finger.
Glove on hand.
Smile on face.
Bag on lap.
Coat by feet.
Growl of stomach.
Buzz from phone.
Skylight shines,
through windows.
Train ploughs on.


Anticipate... An arrival.
Slow drone staggers on.
Empty chatter, tired yawn.
Bag by my feet. Phone on hand.
Stomach growls, legs ache.
Light and shadows flash past
through dusty windows.
Approaching destination.
Grasp tight my coat.
Message from the luggage bags launching down from the roof.
You have arrived at your destination.
I step outside.
Daylight in Cardiff.

Beautiful Girl

I saw her.
And she was beautiful! In everything!
In sound, in face, in warmth!
I could walk by her side and it was wonderful!
Such a kind and happy time,
To mask the hidden shadow in my heart.
It wasn't escapism you gave me,
But an overpowering light.
So meaningful.
The lantern turns cold again because it is weak.
But I will remember when it lit up bright.

Purpose of this blog.

To express.