Even on the first day I knew There was something different there inside of you You weren’t just a shell with space inside I told myself you were nothing – I suppose I lied.
You ideas and thoughts were mind you see! These thoughts you had were so like me The rush of relief and oneness had me beat And there you had me head over feet.
All I want is that you see The person that is you, so familiar to me I need that someone to cling to I suppose all I really need is just – you.
But that’s when reality sets in Fool’s Gold is that substance within You’re so much higher that I can ever be Never with someone like you – and someone like me.
“If I could change the world” is what I said Well, that’s just voices inside my head. Please keep smiling and loving – it’s so your style ’cause knowing you’re happy makes all this worthwhile.
Burn the books Sublimation of oppression and frustration
White, blue and red becoming black Slowly, quickly – but all changing Becoming miniatures of it’s self And floating away.
Purification from injustice was the belief A practice handed down from generation to generation. If only I’d realised that the tomes contained The very things that I stand for – the very things that I subvert.
“Ashes to ashes”
Ashes aiding in the growth process Your assumption, your subjective beliefs, Your arrogance, your bias.
I wonder if you’ll be happy with what I have inside I’m nothing all that special No amazing talents do I hide
You’ll have to take me as I am I’m not sure though, if that’s much I play no musical instruments, nor know any tales and I’m no acrobatic freak, as such.
I can love you though you see that’s something I can do make you feel pleasure and happiness but only for one, only for you.
I hope that you will be happy with what I have inside I’m nothing very special.
I reach down into the black bile through the familiar corridors to the pupling rapids as I desperately search out a ray of light – an indication of what went wrong and what went right.
But I go around in circles a Green Snake forever dining on iteself tasing it’s presence and bitterness but not understanding why.
I contstantly try and shed this skin crawl out and leave the yellow pale stiff scales behind me. But every time I do, I find that the skin remains the same, the news skins are just the same as the new except they are dead, cold and uninhabited.
They don’t think anymore.
They just dry up and scatter in the wind Like small dandelion seeds Spinning into the distace Never capable or willing to reunite As one ‘perfect’ whole again.
My new skin has no pores. and as I dip down again into the black bile, glide the familiar corridors and sither down the pupling rapids I clutch my elusive prize violently between my teeth.
Nothing.
My tail begins to hurt and my skin becomes unbearibly itchy …
Poem for Guy, who battled with Bipolar quite tragically:
How did you start your morning on that cold winter’s day? Did you kiss your wife goodbye with hope in your heart, or with defeat on your mind? Did you think anything at all … ?
You begin the day normally and must make your scheduled train. You see the station, the same as it ever was. The smell of grease, smoke and the cold morning air entering your nostrils and filling your entire body.
Your mind is preoccupied with other things.
I wonder what you felt – as solemn as the other people on the platform that day? Or whether you felt a sense of relief and ‘oneness’ – knowing, finally, what was happening in life.
The satisfaction of having some sort of control, of knowing that the blood that flows through your veins – the blood that feeds your mind, would now only flow on to sustain nothing.
I wonder whether you look around at everything and see visions of sadness or suprising clarity? I know your vision of your surroundings would now be almost perfect, the colours brighter, everything much more vivid.
Glancing at your watch, your heart begins to pound. The Sweat on your brow becomes much more prominent. Maybe some people nearby wonder why you ‘re frowning so much, Whether you are just an angry person, or whether, on this cold day, you just have something on your mind.
In the distance you see the black dust rise into the air, as the dark tangle of steel moves slowly towards you. Your heart must be beating faster and faster still, there is no longer any saliva in your mouth.
A deep breath, moving into a trance like stare, you make your final decision and descend to the ground. Did your knees crack as you knelt quickly, or did you slowly, but delicately lower yourself.
The passengers around you aren’t sure what’s happening – and I don’t blame them (I mean, people are still trying to come to terms with that decades later).
The cold steel presses onto the back of your neck. The sweat and morning dew combine, and in that moment, there is a connection between two foreign liquids, just as you see the sun for the first time that day.
While it is grey and cloudy, the sun is shining though, and you blink to adjust your eyes to the brightness.
Muffled shouting can be hear in the background, A woman screams and the school children point wondering what is happening.
People don’t seem so solemn now do they?
I wonder what goes through your mind as you lie there, the cold steel burying itself in your neck. Do you have the presence of mind to think of your wife (who is at home washing the dishes and planning her day) or of your children (who will now learn the horrors of the adult world).
Perhaps. But I somehow think that you communicate with your dead Mother and Father. They are at the forefront of your mind.
Someone there that day is brave and snatches you away.
Did you shout “NO!”? Or did you resolutely whisper “yes”?
What were you thinking of that day?
Did the blood that flows through your (my) veins finally overcome you? Did you really not care enough to think of those who also had your blood coursing through them?
You weren’t alone there on that platform. No matter how much you wish you were. There were selected generations before you and now there are selected generations after you.
You must learn to live with it. You must live to learn with it.
From the darkness We slip through the fleshy doors To the lightness of being And from there it is a constant struggle between the two.
By the end of the spectrum We ultimately slide back into the screaming blackness And in that moment we lost control – The control we once thought we had (and loved).
But what about my grey matter?
That only serves to torment us … … in between the lightness and the dark.
Don’t you know that no one can see out through your eyes? Can’t you see that no one hears your soulless sighs? Don’t you feel as though you are alone on the outside too? And can’t you know that no one can read what’s inside of you?
What have I done? (Or not done) to lead me to where I am today? As I stumble around like a new born searching for my compass, my map, my signpost.
Is there someone up there looking after me? Or has the contract been dropped along the way? Severed because the contact means too much work – this isn’t in the job description.
How could it be possible – on this large ball of Earth filled with millions of different cultures and people … … how could it be possible that my radius be so small, that my circle be so minuscule?
Like a sudden moment of shameful realisation I turn myself outside in and sit in the corner with my head in my hands. How curiously ironic that the very thing that enamors me is the very thing I do not possess.
I fall apart when you’re around. My heart skips, I’m not with it. I want to tell you what’s inside. My lips move but there’s no sound.
Life’s no fun when you’re haunted by those you meet People like you so out of reach My lack of control is my failure And like a child I stare stupidly at my feet.
Sleepless night, my mind scatters Thinking of you and what you say. Blocking out the trivial sounds Because your sound is all that matters.
You’re tearing up the ground Squeezing the rock hard stone Searching for the elements That will keep the blood Gushing through your veins.
Don’t you know you have it all? More than you realise … You need no survival kit As you turn off the lights And pull the blinds down low.
Please grab the steering wheel Grab it and don’t let go I will lose my idol If you should crash and burn
This is pure compassion This is pure concern You would need claws of steel And teeth of gold To even penetrate the surface
You’re walking a tightrope With no safety net below And I don’t feel capable of caching you If the lure of the siren’s voice and song Suddenly pushes you over the edge.
Please grab the steering wheel Grab it and don’t let go You will lose yourself If you should crash and burn …
Everything Uncharted 