Heart the weekend

Darkened closes

wi' plenty plunder.

A lost high heel

soaks in chunder.

Man sleeps peacefully

in a phone box.

Couple has meaningful,

drunken talks.

Off it's face,

Glasgow's dawnin'.

Last night was yaldy,

but now it's mournin'.

Monday night meat-market

This is life.

This is living.

Moist your lips,

warm-up your tongue,

let the music

all the way in.

All The Small Things.

Almost essential.

Human contact,

your arm brushes hers

(brushes theirs?)

Do you feel that?

Feel that warmth,

that closeness,

to another person,

just for a minute.

Do you see her?

The way she dances?

Look at those tits.

Go on over

kiss her now

fuck her later

What's her name?

Doesn't matter.

Closing time.

The dancefloor empties

can you see her?

She wandered off before.

Well, what's she look like?

Can't remember.

This is your life.

That you're living.

I'm a Fucking Poet

DVD boxsets

and books stacked high,

clothes drip drying

while others pile dirty,

the couch last seen

some time in June.

Empty bru bottles

and unclean dishes,

crumbs from bread and cakes

and God knows what else.

Empty chocolate wrappers

and scribbled down stanzas.

Soaking wet hair

and ratty old jeans,

cheap yellow pen and

ripped notebook pages.

Empty co-codamol packs

and slightly gay hairbands.

Sitting in the carnage

comfortable in its

"blatent imagery"

instead of cleaning,

he sits and writes

to show he is an artiste dah-ling.

Enjoy destroy

Enjoy destroy

take a bat to it.

The thoughts you killed

these past few years rot

and return, to

fester a little

more and burn

again, like you want.

Enjoy destroy

you chose this after

all. Happiness

was too close and you

can't allow

that in. Misery:

a life choice that

must be adhered to.

Enjoy destroy

this viscious cycle

tightly hold on

to absolutely

nothing, convinced

it is important.

Enjoy destroy

the rest of your life.

Commitment Issues

Spongy walls and arms

wrapped tightly,

bright lights and doors

bolted shut

gently stagnating life lies

behind them.

Because he'd rather do the

easy thing

than the smart and

doesn't care

who knows or frowns or

runs their

fingers round and round

the edges

of what he claims

to think

and quite desperately

wants to

believe.

Trapped, he sits as his

own obsessions

consume and carress him

kindly enforcing

what he knows and hates and

loathes/(loves?).

It's safe to say he has

commitment issues.

The girl is a globetrotter

The girl is a globetrotter

visiting places

to understand

why clouds look like they do.

She hopes a pattern

will emerge

that will teach

her to make decisions.

But the clouds look mean

and want to

rain. Intensely

soaking everything she has.

Her mind plays tricks though

and she sees

exactly what she wants and

justified, she smiles.

The girl is a globetrotter.

And she is happy.

Burnt Toast Reminders

It's the little things
those quiet moments
that set you thinking
and send you back

to that time.

The pop culture referencing
the in-jokes created
handwriting exchanged
and ideas shared.

Those burnt toast reminders.

I'm Probably Safe In Here Anyway

I'm going to be honest here, I read a shitload of Bryan Lee O'Malley comic strips tonight, and that's what inspired me to write this one.
Their influence is pretty obvious on it.

It's Christmas in August
and I'm in a glass house
where the light shines in for 20 hours,
24 hours a day.
I can see her,
I can see all of the hers,
but they don't want to come in.
They like it in the real sun.

I have a tree with me,
it's decent but not great.
I climbed it once
but had to stop at my glass ceiling.
Is that a cliché? Shush.

I painted one of my walls green.
I don't really know why,
but it seemed a bit vibrant that way.
It's just me and the tree in here,
nothing else alive.

I have food though!
Maybe if she gets hungry
she might ask in
and be beside me, with me.
I'd like that.

I could break the walls
and bring the whole thing down
and be outside in the real sun,
with them.
But I like my house,
and the glass is shatterproof,
I think.
I'm probably safe in here anyway.