A Short Distraction

I find myself distracted
Your lips curve around a cigarette
I'm completely fixated
As the smoke curls above your head.

Your dark eyes are peircing
You've become my drug, my wine
Inside my head I'm screaming
While trying to pretend I'm fine.

I can't stand it when you leave
The emptiness creeps inside
And I know my impossible relief
Is to have you by my side.

A Loss

A thousand perfect yesterdays
can't ever atone
for a broken tomorrow;
make the most of today
before it passes away
unappreciated.

Take a deep breath and say his name.
Stop being a coward, stop being ashamed.
So what if I'm in love with you?
What am I supposed to do?
Bury you inside my heart,
pretend and lie and do my part?

Act as though everything's fine,
although it's not, cause you're not mine.
How am I supposed to cope?
To live this life, abandon hope?

I know I'll never be with you,
I know it's wrong, you know it too.
The guilt washes over me, then I remember...
He's not here... I'm free to feel this way
Reality begins to fray... these feelings
stay inside my head, you'll never know,
I'll know instead.

A Paradox

I find myself wandering alone
trying to make sense of all I've seen
of life and death and love and hate
and everything in between.

I happen across a dazzling meadow.
Its beauty takes my breath away
and I am overcome with sadness
for I know I cannot stay.

I am a trespasser to its colour,
a pilpherer of its breeze.
I am permitted to stay only a while
and too soon I will have to leave.

I bend down and pick a single bloom
from the thousands growing wild.
Its simple beauty captivates me
and I wish that it were mine.

So I hold on to it tightly, and run;
its image filling my head.
I open my hand to see it again
but I found the flower dead.

So is it better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all?
Or fight for something that isn't mine
and risk the impending fall?

Now I wander, empty, from place to place
looking for beauty of equal measure.
For that single bloom has touched my life
and its memory I will treasure.

Forever My Muse

Your toes curl in ecstacy
and I can still smell you
on my skin.

I shiver with th cold
and you light a cigarete,
hand it to me,
roll another.

Your hair flicks into your eyes;
your impatient click of the tounge
negates your easy smile.

So I fix you a drink,
a double for good measure
(a real good measure),
and you hum along
to the song on the stereo.

Your beauty is your tragedy,
your tragedy is your beauty
and I feel your pain
at your wasted opportunities.

You try to brush away
your disappointment,
but you are your own worst enemy,
your harshest critic,
accountable only to yourself
wishing you were better...

The Timeless Tale of Forbidden Love

When I look at you, all I see
is the emptiness inside of me.
The knowledge that you can't be mine
will haunt me til the end of time.

I feel a longing I just can't tame
and I can't know if you feel the same,
and I know that I will be found out
cause you're all that I can think about.

I write you love notes inside my head
I'll play the sequences until I'm dead...
because these moments are all I've got;
wishing they were real when I know that they're not.

Feeling the hurt inside my chest
but doing what I know is best,
I'll never shake the guilt and shame
and the neverending waves of pain.

I don't get to star in my own love story -
I don't get the love, I don't get the glory,
and there's so little time before I leavw
and I'm not even allowed to grieve.

Because I know you belong to another
though you and I belong together.
Inevitably, this much is true;
I've found out I'm in love with you.

Antigone's perspective

She floated way above her world
and viewed it from afar.
She liked it far from company;
she much preferred the stars.

She wished to see the stars up close,
to hold the light in her hands,
to stay in the inky blackness
and make the stars her friends.

Her solitude was freedom from
a life of pain and despair;
up there the silence was deafening,
up there she floated without a care.

Her isolation gripped her,
clawed at her insecurities;
she was alone, deserted, detested,
building a life on futilities.

She's once known a life of happiness,
alas she had loved and lost,
so she left her life long ago
without considering the cost.

Now the memories simply fade away
though the pain never seems to numb.
So she blocks out life and past and thought
until sleep begins to come.

A Glorious Mistake

We wander aimlessly
through raging seas,
with doubt in our minds,
lost amongst the trees.
We steal away
to a quiet place;
try to disappear
without any trace

The presuppositions
which rule our lives
are forgotten here;
we've broken the ties.
We can live in this world,
Where we're all alone
and forget all about
what waits at home.

Just be ourselves
and be together
wishing this time
could last forever,
though we know it can't
and we'll have to return
before we've been taught
everything we should learn.

So we'll just make the most
of what we have now;
with a few stolen hours
we'll get by somehow.
And we'll look back and laugh
at those few stormy days,
because they meant so much
in so many ways.

The Ballad of Tristan Marley

She says calm down
As he sinks another drink
The light behind his eyes
Slowly fades away
He says it's okay
Controlled, composed
He tells her a story
Tells of his woes...

Drifting around
Since the day he left school
Drinks his life away
Tristan Marley the fool.
Jack of all trades,
And master of none
He keeps hold of the bottle
Til the liquid's all gone.

Not a care in the world
But his next cigarette
Can't tell with Tristan
Quite what to expect.
With a drink in one hand
And a smoke in the other
He finishes them off
Then looks for another.

He'll drink til his memories
Are faded and gone
Til all of his senses
Have died, one by one.
He picks up a girl
Company til morning
Drops her again
Without any warning.

He takes up his pen
And he writes a few lines
Of the sorrow he knows
From his brief stretch of time.
He's got no sense of pride
Lives his life through his lies
Tristain Marley won't change
Til the day that he dies.

Naivity

The morning after the night before:
your hair's a mess, your dress on the floor
and you can't get rid of the aftertaste;
the vodka, cigarettes, the look on his face.

The dream was a waste
of everyone's time.
And they knew all along...
She'd amount to nothing.

You looked him in the eye,
I guess you never figured...
You never really thought about
what that night had triggered

When he had you on your knees
And promised you the world
you didn't really get it;
all he wanted was the girl.

And do you think it was worth it?
To mess up your life,
To hurt all those people
for one drunken night?

So you can cry into your glass of wine
with delusions of grandeur and class,
but as you drag yourself back to the real world
you know you just border on trash.

Martyrdom

Why does it have to hurt so much?
It's like breaking every bone in your body
then jumping out of a 7th storey window
And you can laugh it off
but its still as hollow as a rotten nut.

When you think about what you did
you feel used and dirty,
cheap and unwanted,
unattractive,
unloved.
Again.

See, once is a mistake
and you can forgive yourself twice,
but three and you've got a problem:
serious attachment issues,
probably something to do
with mommy and daddy taking
but never giving and always
basking in the reflective glory
of a think they made but never raised.

And now you latch on to whatever you can find.
Whether they want you
or not
and usually not.

And you can blame yourself dear
because it is your fault;
how was he supposed to know
that you're more damaged than him?

Stupid girl, with your stupid dreams.
put down the pen and pick up the knife
and do us all a favour.
Your God will love you then.
And it wasn't a rash decision -
he knew it all along
and of course he won't regret it...
his lucky escape really.
Hope one day he writes about it;
then you'll really be immortalised.
Can yourself a martyr
and be done with it.

God, you're turning into your mother.

An Unhealthy Preoccupation with the Unobtainable...

A spotlight in my head
consumes my thoughts, my dreams;
It follows me, fills me with a sense
of my own self loathing.
I can see how it would be
star struck and sparkling and noisy
like that first applause, resonating
before the curtain closes.

I can feel that I want it
and constantly try
to hide it, but keep clinging, somehow;
because it is a far away dream,
impossible dream,
pointless dream.
For I've not the tools
nor the talents
to take on a tactless life
of sparkle,
glamour,
attention.

A spotlight in my head -
never fades, still bright -
blinds me with its passion
which I know reflects my own.
It's not quite forbidden;
only by myself,
my clumsy scrawl across a page
does not live up to
its own high standards.

As bright is the spotlight
is as dim as I.
How may one so dull
be illuminated is splendour?
In beauty?
I torment myself with fantasy.
I am sick, worthless.

A spotlight in my head
makes it pound,
makes me suffer.
But I will never let it go out.