Nowhere Mare

I am not here
So I can never leave
Nor can I just remain
What I once breathed lies moribund
Where I once flourished stands a ghost town
When I smiled it was once true
And you, you always knew
Coloured me happy, taught me pride
For you are it, and it is you
Don’t you value my fight
About as harsh as I value my being

Where is my faith
Where is my agency
Where is my grace
Where is my spine
Now where is the crack
What’s up with this face
What is this fucking awful place.


Post mulled whine/Pixies sesh

Try and capture your visual moment by way of captioning with another’s captivating words? By one shredded soul kind enough to share to the herds? Oh back your sticky fingers away into a tight fist and knuckle down. Capitulate. To your own raw sentiments gone awry. Less imitation of processed one’s hard done by.




Boxing Day, as far as I can remember, has always been marked by the following: a serious OD of nostalgic pop. media , binge-eating and a sort of inevitable (welcome, almost) spot of the blues – for which the first two activities  are the only cure now. A general indoorlence (strictly indoor indolence) lies at the heart of my post Christmas days. And yes, everything about that last sentence says I must get out more…but Hey! (NP, The Pixies)


Levitate me



Thrust you back in

It’s a gutwrench, behold
When another tears open the hole in your side
Releases the you that you wanted to hide
Sluices out slowly, slimy battered innards
Thing of pitiful mirthlessness
Why won’t you set it free, let it leave
But no, you stuff this back into you
And wait for the next lovely person
To tell you about yourself

Knot your sides back up, tight
You’ll start to carry your despair
Flaunt it even
Like a hideous necklace
Do you think it’s an heirloom?
You consider your forbears
And swallow the tears
Because hope is now a distant memory
And your mind is perforated by the little guys
Who live there to bombard you
With all that is untrue
But they don’t let a thing escape
So have fun head case



With arms open wide
And mouth shut tight
Embracing the the deprecatory self
Igniting my loins for a tepid fuck all
Boil my blood and grind my teeth
For war after war leading to defeat
And no one to cleanse the red carnage and blue bodies
In my battlefield brain.

For I am selfish in the wrong way
Not gracefully so, you understand,
Not for me and mine
This is the truth every other truth detests
And I don’t know many truths
But that I prey on you so on me they prey.


They won’t leave

You tell me how I can remain
This walking talking
Smoking coking
Gainsayer extraordinaire
Bursting with a ton
Blue mist
That was no joke mother
That was a matter of dead and deader
Can’t fix a thing in either state
Please take me there
Dropping little babies and grand heirlooms in my wake
Wending my way through flame
Climbing root to spire making bloody tracks for my ghosts
They won’t leave me
So I plan to make this easier
This way, please
Oh even you my cute little chagrin
I’ll scoop you up you rotten cunt
Snug in my arms, close to my chest, my heart
Change is for the greatest
So I harbour this fugitive
Sitting on the top of a stairwell in my brain.
Smile but don’t look too closely
You undo him
And I fucking bury you alive.


Her will her woe

If those of you, able to look dead into me and interject
‘there’s something wrong with you’,
are then rendered alright,
I’d rather stay in my wrongness
Than be alright.
For it’s plain wrong
I tell you.
I prize that something wrong with me.
Fucking wrong ‘un, me.

But he never did that
And she would never do that.
Stay alright
You seldom straying
Lovely people.


You’ll bruise

Don’t baby me
Sober leech
Ask me why I don’t have a fresh uptake on life?
This, my retort, is yours expressly:
It’s fresh as the rot my future world festers in
Born of your unyielding sin
Our innings.

Quit the play
Your meagre games of late
Deem yourself a seer
Cannot see past the end of your nose
Then you sever it, don’t spite your face.

And yes
When I have at thee
In part, I have at me.