A Portrait of A Pretentious Mind

If my heart is an open casket to be draped with fine garbs of sorrow
Then this verse is but one thin silk veil of blood-drenched woe
If the finely entwined threads of this garment
Could give voice to their thoughts they would only choke
And retch their way through epic dirges of lost hope
Tell tales of hurt and abandonment

For now these cloths bedeck my docile heart and whisper
Soft reminders of my life, wrapping tighter round the muscle
Til the arteries are cut off and claret flows no more through it’s ventricles
The heart withers and gasps, faltering and unnerved by the blood’s absence
As too do I, for you are the blood that keeps me alive
The thread that weaves through my mind and keeps my thoughts together
Gathered is all I can be at best and only with you do I cling to that

Without you I am not living, I am but barely breathing
And the absence of my heart weighs heavily on my lungs
For if my heart is an open casket then
Without you, my mind and self have made a bed of the coffin
And are to be buried inside the cold heart
Without you I am merely a pallbearer
And the solitary mourner at my soul’s funeral
I am cold without you
And I realise now that I can’t lose you

I’ll Be Here

So, it’s been a long time coming and now it’s come to pass
But I’m still standing, stock still stunned and cold
My heart’s been pounding faster than i’ve known
In fourteen years spent twisted and alone

In all this time, I never knew your reasons
Girl, turn the key, and call open season
Release the wolves and bait my breath
In sheeps clothing and stained blood red

Choking, wretching, choke the wretch
Sip a litre then down the rest
Fuck the flock, take what you can
Out for all you can get, but left me alone

The door’s open pass through it, and don’t look back
Because theres no turning back, run along
You’re just a part of the past and a long long way from home
And I’m still standing, yeah, i’ll be here

Fatalistic

What if, what if i never make it out of this alive
I ask her
Would you mourn for me or carry on in ignorance
Not allowing my demise to affect your poise and countenance
She laughs and smiles, flashing her yellow teeth

You’re so fucking fatalistic, she replies
Without truly understanding the word

I push harder. Would you even care if I died?
Followed you around,
Screaming agonised declarations on the afterlife
Would you even care?

She smiled once more.
I would be distraught, she whispers.
And I’m startled to note the sincerity in her voice
Then I scream. Why won’t you fucking love me?

Because, she says, stubbing out a cigarette
On the tabletop, you’re so fucking fatalistic
And our time has passed

Resurrector

The writing on the wall is running onto the street
Became the fifth raven, I’m widening into nothing
Taste human smoke as I draw near
Enter resurrector number nine
Call open season on thought crime

Oh Lord, I’m screaming, end this torment
As the shit fills my lungs, my skin is crawling
A litany of corruption, a written lie

There is no question, I held this cross far too long
Some things you’ll never know
A bend, a twist of the truth, dead, torn and far from rapture
Slowly tasting suicide, this corruption is a painting

Don’t stand so far from it, choking into life
You felt dead liars, you don’t smile
Wounds run deeper with each passing day
A bloody memory
You’re so shamed and I’m fucking cold

I run my fingers down my neck, this monster haunting you
Is but a taste of the hell you’ll meet after life
I guess you’re just another fucking whore
To Abaddon and the corporate lords

Tastes sicker than revelation, there is no pariah
But yourself, spiralling, ending this fucking life
You’re but an object in their game
You lick this dirty rotten flesh
And we all suffocate in our special way

Crush

A whispering waif waltzes in
Wailing wordless warnings
Wondering, wandering, waiting
Always waiting, seeking

Searching, scouring
Peeking, pacing purposefully
Back and forth
Four more times, tip toe wall to wall

Watching, listening then go forth
Never go thirds, split it right down the middle
Mainstream and diverting sharply from that little trickling
Babbling brook

You so carefully nurtured, aided and abetted but
You can’t fight nature
Blank faced and bemused
Why do you do what you do when you do what we don’t do son

Wake up, smell the roses
Or the daffodils and not the nightshade, never the nightshade
Dull and dark and drifting along
Rein it in and feel the rain of mediocrity
Running across your smooth sore skin

Hooray for hemlock said the first and
Last martyr, this world isn’t built for us
We who wonder what effect, weight
Tone and timbre tell us

Of your mindset, her mindset
Anyone’s mind, once it is set and firm
Immalleable and uncompromising
A battering ram against us aqueous fools

But you can’t crush water

Sunrise

Just so you all know- sunrise today was 5:22am. I know this because it happened 5 hours and 22 minutes into my coach journey to the airport. I have been spectacularly bored and this is the first break from the tedium of darkness. I’ve been awake since 10am yesterday. By the time I get to JFK I will have been up for 32 hours. Hopefully I’ll kip on the plane.

Dollar bills yo

image

Gonna be in New York at some bizarre time tomorrow. Quite excited. Packed my case, put 5 copies of my book in. I still can’t really explain why. Maybe i’ll chat up some hot poetry loving waitress and give her one (a book) as a present. Then we will get married and i’ll get citizenship and move there and become the next Christopher Hitchens and pigs will fly and this is a poor sentence.

I’ll try post a bit about my trip but i’ll probably be fairly quiet.

Shockingly Overlooked For An Academy Award

On March 2nd all the biggest and brightest names in the world of film assembled for the 86th Academy Awards. All of them, that is, except for a few notable exceptions.

Yes, dear reader, we were overlooked again! The Academy once again besmirched the honour of the greatest assembly of acting and writing talent that a small village in Suffolk has ever produced! Featuring the acting talents of Chester “Loudest and Most Frequently Gesticulating Man 2014″ Curtis, the subtle latino charms of writer/director/editor/producer/actor Will McDaniel and yours truly in an intensely understated supporting role, Ripped Film’s omission from ANY of the voting categories was, frankly, as baffling as the structure of this sentence. With all of the explosive special effects you would expect from a 70′s action B movie, the restrained and thought provoking plot reminiscent of Steven Seagal’s more recent work and several unnecessary and gratuitous shots of slightly out of shape hairy men in underwear and body stockings, Ripped Films was many critics’ pick for Best Picture:

334803_10150265042656050_4263219_o

“Yeah, sure it was good alright now let me watch Corrie”
My mum

“What are you wearing stockings for lads, I thought you stopped this fannying around ten years ago?”
Will’s dad

“Has anyone seen my tights, I bought a new pack the other day and can’t find them anywhere?”
Chester’s wife

“Stop dressing the dogs up, it confuses them”
Will’s mum

390096_10150444449231050_2140113101_n

Perhaps even more outrageous was Jared Leto’s victory in the category of Best Supporting Actor. Putting in the sort of performance that led my high school drama teacher to write “Daniel tries really hard and he is good at writing, howev…” and coping extraordinarily well with cameraman Alex’s decision to use 5ft 7 Chester as the guide for the frame (leading to my head being cropped out fairly often) I felt at the very least that Mr Leto would be giving me a piggyback up the steps to collect my prize.

340416_10150262639231050_331675_o

Pah, next time!

As a condition for sharing Ripped Films, which is “ruined by one of the actors” (he declined to name which one), Will has made me promise to show you this short film which he says is far better (but oddly doesn’t feature me, I mean…I was available for it I think but for some reason I didn’t get a text all weekend?).

Oh and apparently he’s found another useless, lanky cretin for his next movie but if you could subscribe to his Youtube channel willmcd87: http://bit.ly/1qtM26P he promised he might find a role for me in future.

Wake Up, Breathe

If glass hearts shatter and
Scatter, cascading rippling rays of red light
We’ll still have these to hold onto
These memories, this night

In our convalescence we taste the essence
Succulent and distilled
Into something purer;
In essence and in a sense

It is more and less than either of us
Could hope for and far rarer
And longer living than long nights
Between sweat stained sheets

Writhing
Wrestling with the wonder of
Who, what, where, when and why me
Wallowing in regret and banking on

The misery of waking up alone and
Longing, lusting for a catheter
Shot full of ecstatic adrenaline
That drips out and dissipates

Far quicker than they ever said that
It would or that it could or
That ever happened in any picture
Pasted up on the screen, screaming

Loudly that waking the neighbours is
What we should all aim for
Maybe they’re wrong
I’d trade it all for a quiet life

And consistent company with someone
Who constantly leaves me breathless
Dewy eyed with wide irises
And that little skipping somersault
In my stomach

In moonlight and beneath skies
Where stars shiner brighter than you’ve
Noticed before yet sit dulled by
The defiance of the silent shout of the
Beauty that stands before you