Papers

He said to me, casually
One day at a time
While checking his Gold Watch
And noting the observers.

The robotic station was evident
White sheets drawn up
With a memorandum of intentions
That never work for me.

Those eyes: So understanding
That things really will get better –
But not today, not here
And not surrounded by papers.

A brush and wave; A pat
And then it was done – Monthly
No more words were ever needed
None was ever going to be given.

I leave, we all leave together
Judging the situation around us –
The sun is still high in the clouds
As I sit and wait for the next one.

I wish I could float

I wish I could float
Taller than the sky below
To see the curvature;
Wave at the windows
Inside the little dome.

Arms apart, Hands free
Feet shaking uncontrollably
As the world zooms in;
A mirror of the pain below
Moving further away.

Swimming through Air
In the midst of treading
Cycling with childish grace;
Tears running down my face
To keep up and follow.

I see what I need to
When I’m nearer the stars
And nothing is up here;
Wilderness can be bliss
Looking down at colour.

Somewhere up here anyway
I aim to see the past
That the ground seems to miss;
Violent struggles of time
Spat out into the air to catch.

I wish I could float
To see the line of thoughts
Sadly erased from memory;
Hidden, controlled and lasting
Waving back at me.

I float, I see; we all see.
When I reach what I’m looking for
Crash.

Whispering Dark

The dark away, it said to me
‘There is a way to deal with pain’
It moved around and whispered this
With the night approaching.
Wondering
Will these words stay with me?
With a light to turn out
All across the room, endless.
Slumped with little energy it spoke
‘pain is not endless; move on’
With that I saw no more.
Logically
My imagination was in overdrive
Which is like every other night
Where I hear the motivations
Told within the whispering dark.

Pleasure seeker

I opened up to the world in order to create the next day.
Yesterday was exillerating; I discovered a moment that overwhelmed –
Laughter and amusements within a simple setting – nothing special.
However, as with unpredictability the situation was like a golden pill;
A cure-all for the terminal pleasure seeker in distress.
I sat in the car with the realisation that recreation would level me;
Quiet pleasures in the sun tomorrow and everyday; keep to schedule.

I knew what the day would bring, I was convinced of it;
In bed I barely moved in dream-mode as the lights flickered relentlessly;
Dominant greens overlapping the shiny blue ether of eternal deep.
We were there, stopping and starting – the tears of summer joy.
Yes, the day will be created to fit the landscape image and ease the pain.
In silent embrace I allowed my contentment to take me through the night.

I opened up to the world in order to create the new day.
I sat, waited and processed, but nothing. The rain was unbearable –
Amusements closed and the faces solumn; whitewashed movement.
As with unpredictability the situation is encouraged by my mood;
Ever changing pathways of supposed order – lies in the open air.
I recreate to maintain this order, a new meaning for a happy moment;
The very pleasure is predictable, but my mind makes it unbearable.

Go steady

A sprinkling of emotion onto these eyes
Will make it all go away;
In time you realise the decision is made
Without even speaking a word.
No care in the world to deliver
If a cure is on the other side;
No heartbreak from the stick-men
If everyone is cured the same way.
Judge me when you reach the heights
that we supposedly all aspire;
The truth is hard but blunt and fair –
The path is the same for everyone.

Lone

Empty house so full of light –
Breathing into every new day;
Open-plan demonstrations in twilight
With me and my bed in the middle.

Empty house take in the air for us –
Circulating freshness in channels;
Bitter fighting in the blind spots
As I try and hide with sound appreciation.

Empty house in the wooded clearing –
New life with every open window;
The yellow flames twinkle to white
With duck feathers all around me.

Empty house with it’s picture presentation –
A testament to well loved oak;
Standing tall as the lone warrior
Sipping in the morning air in waves.

In Memoriam.

Slow Drip

Dripping through the cavities
We see each other; hidden, obscured,
Yet very well aware of the decay.

The picture frame is hanging
Obviously at a slight edge, angled;
Unnerving all observers.

We are literally who people see us;
There are no cracks to cover at all.
The surface is bad enough to explore.

Everyday is a sweat-soaked trauma
Of keeping ourselves together;
We are all in this spiral mess.

The pains are imagined; universal.
Experience is the key to survival;
Understanding what pain actually is.

Laughter Of Language

If there was anything left that I could hold onto
No matter how hard it was to translate;
I would do so in a skip of a heartbeat
Even though it would probably end me.

If only the translation was acceptable enough
That communication was bearable in this mess;
Surprises always trickle around this old corner
And reveal themselves as another boundary.

Laughter is the new normality of communication
When all is escaping into a flurry of voices;
If only the words could be concise to sentence
Swearing that the farewell is a common embrace.

The Storm that Guides

Every-time it storms I feel refreshed
As though the world is somehow connected
To my Understanding of the body
That holds me back so often.

Just thinking makes things happen;
I laugh and the neighbourhood is bright;
Go out for a meal and the pavements
Appreciate the attention – with a snigger.
If I cry, the Earth inhales and spits;
Holding me in a whirlpool, centrally –
Until I am able to leave the room
And start all over again.

Yes, I certainly am connected,
Like a vein of pollution shuddering;
Aiming to contaminate to the heart
Until Arrest; And the pain that follows.
All I receive is the waste product;
The filth of memories past – They weep
When they are presented; emotionless.

Every-time the clouds part; severed –
I am not involved at all in the process.
I crawl under the recess and explain
To myself that I have no control this time.
Sometimes I have to face the weather;
Clearly happy with events – Masking.
Brave face and shaking hands; Firm.

Deep within the void I am already dead.
I died when I couldn’t control the clouds
And hid this from myself with a passion;
As though everything was because of me.

I am a self-centered, crazy bastard.

Bipolar stuggle with Others

If there was someway to have another chance
I would explain the pain that affects my mind
Causing you to see me badly at first glance
Yet without your understanding I am blind.

I am a product of my experience
Of acting a certain way towards people –
At times I may seem like I’m delirious
Though when I’m in my state I really can’t tell.

Is there really anyway to show you this?
To fight through my struggles and glimpse through the sheet?
Bipolar is difficult; you don’t process
With regularity; Midtones with concrete.

You know this, I know this; but it’s not easy
To accept a life knowing my moods don’t stay –
They whisk around and follow me completely;
I wake and see you, so face another day.