I'm in your room and on my tiptoes - as usual.
It's slick with the scent of rose and Dowel wood -
Which I detest,
which he still loves even now.
I run your old towel-dress under the shelves,
dismantling the cobwebs you've left behind. They
stick to the fabric, bind the fibres - but unwind
the ones in my mind. (The ones that are his now.
Never mine.) Nevermind -
The sun blares, making shadow puppets through
the hole in the blind. Your car
- ours now -
is parked outside. He got it in the will.
The man doesn't even drive.
He hollers from the kitchen, offers me a coffee.
In your mug.
Offers me a hug on the side - why, I know he's
stil
And I knew him so well.
I knew him from the scratching of pencils and paintbrushes on a rough canvas and of nails down a back. I can grind my teeth and hiss at you that he was music.
He had a voice like an orchestra in constant crescendo. Fingers like violin strings, slurred and beautiful until the anxiety-enforcing pizzicato. Until the flat notes.
Yes, head to toe, he was art. I can trace circles around my collarbone, my wrist, and explain that he was a Caravaggio painting – his head and his body never in the same place. Severed and bloodied forever.
He spoke of precious metals on my finger. We knew each other so well that he wan
I was built up from
rubble and dust. Reinforced
in case of earthquake, gusts
of wind that may break me, or
any other disasters made to
sway me. Crafted by the best -
Yes,
all-consuming bricks of skin
and plaster(s).
Scars like window
shutters to my flesh
closed more or less -
only opened to make
the air fresh.
Weeds and vines wrapping
around my mind. Cutting
the power. No more sight.
That's when I open the
shutters wide - natural
light to flood my eyes.
Open the shutters,
close the blind.
Silly little thing, placed
just in front of me, all scaly
and slippery and disgusting.
Your stench already hurts me.
Cuts me.
Trust me.
Take your fins and start slicing:
Underside and head. Ghastly.
Here's where it turns nasty:
Knife to your stomach, run
it up to your neck. Pry open
and remove your heart first -
and heck - take the guts and
all the rest too. Scoop it
out by hand, indecipherable
goo and sand. Throw away;
Tastes bland.
Chop below your gills,
discard the head.
Act sad.
Run a blade up your back -
Split you in half and lay flat.
Take out the spine I didn't know you had.
Wash blood from hands -
W
A lot of the deepest poetry is written whilst drunk.
Not mine.
Mine is more of a fogged mirror to the insides;
a blinded autopsy of my darkest nights, or days that were
just that little bit too bright. I am barking hangover breath
with no bite. I am the October season - No treats. Tricks taken without jest,
just fright. Perhaps a punch to the face might
set me right. (Hardly a fight.) Some vomit to loosen a plight
of Kahlua and Rosé lacing my tongue too tight.
Maybe my words are stifled by alcohol - or,
More right than ever, the barrel of a rifle - Or pistol? (Or bottle)
to my mouth, pointed at heaven. I'll never miss.
And a
i.
Stuck in stasis, I squirm within
the amnion that is my mother's basement.
I lift my head, and hear the heartbeat of
shuffled footsteps travel to me. I send them
back with empty plates, and continue
to overstay my welcome within a womb of waste.
I hear the heart falter and crash.
Is anybody there?
I kick the placenta -
twice for good measure.
No reply.
I gasp for air.
I cry.
ii.
I am born within the ambulance
at the age of thirty four. A trio of
paramedics cut the cord between me and
my mother. She's hoarded to one room, I
to another with magazines and linoleum floors.
I tug at the sleeve of the nurse; ask
her to r
Take me up like damp coffee dust
at the end of the pot. Drink me and
then spit me out. Paint your
teeth the colour of rot.
I suggest you wash your mouth
if you'd rather smile than not.
I needed a photo frame that day. I
needed a way to hang a picture from
its neck, upon a wall, or even less
just hammer a nail in its chest. Tired
of it lying on my desk, on the floor, soaked
with dust and all the rest.
The photo isn't our best, but,
it's me and you. And we're not smiling, it's
one of those "didn't-see-the-camera" findings,
more true to the eye - the unskilled lens
catching a flare from the light, its arms
dividing us with a line. My favourite picture
of the night.
Instead, this photo is still somewhere in my room
or closet - our situation something chronic. We're not
together but 'we're still friends'. That
I'm in your room and on my tiptoes - as usual.
It's slick with the scent of rose and Dowel wood -
Which I detest,
which he still loves even now.
I run your old towel-dress under the shelves,
dismantling the cobwebs you've left behind. They
stick to the fabric, bind the fibres - but unwind
the ones in my mind. (The ones that are his now.
Never mine.) Nevermind -
The sun blares, making shadow puppets through
the hole in the blind. Your car
- ours now -
is parked outside. He got it in the will.
The man doesn't even drive.
He hollers from the kitchen, offers me a coffee.
In your mug.
Offers me a hug on the side - why, I know he's
stil
And I knew him so well.
I knew him from the scratching of pencils and paintbrushes on a rough canvas and of nails down a back. I can grind my teeth and hiss at you that he was music.
He had a voice like an orchestra in constant crescendo. Fingers like violin strings, slurred and beautiful until the anxiety-enforcing pizzicato. Until the flat notes.
Yes, head to toe, he was art. I can trace circles around my collarbone, my wrist, and explain that he was a Caravaggio painting – his head and his body never in the same place. Severed and bloodied forever.
He spoke of precious metals on my finger. We knew each other so well that he wan
I was built up from
rubble and dust. Reinforced
in case of earthquake, gusts
of wind that may break me, or
any other disasters made to
sway me. Crafted by the best -
Yes,
all-consuming bricks of skin
and plaster(s).
Scars like window
shutters to my flesh
closed more or less -
only opened to make
the air fresh.
Weeds and vines wrapping
around my mind. Cutting
the power. No more sight.
That's when I open the
shutters wide - natural
light to flood my eyes.
Open the shutters,
close the blind.
Silly little thing, placed
just in front of me, all scaly
and slippery and disgusting.
Your stench already hurts me.
Cuts me.
Trust me.
Take your fins and start slicing:
Underside and head. Ghastly.
Here's where it turns nasty:
Knife to your stomach, run
it up to your neck. Pry open
and remove your heart first -
and heck - take the guts and
all the rest too. Scoop it
out by hand, indecipherable
goo and sand. Throw away;
Tastes bland.
Chop below your gills,
discard the head.
Act sad.
Run a blade up your back -
Split you in half and lay flat.
Take out the spine I didn't know you had.
Wash blood from hands -
W
A lot of the deepest poetry is written whilst drunk.
Not mine.
Mine is more of a fogged mirror to the insides;
a blinded autopsy of my darkest nights, or days that were
just that little bit too bright. I am barking hangover breath
with no bite. I am the October season - No treats. Tricks taken without jest,
just fright. Perhaps a punch to the face might
set me right. (Hardly a fight.) Some vomit to loosen a plight
of Kahlua and Rosé lacing my tongue too tight.
Maybe my words are stifled by alcohol - or,
More right than ever, the barrel of a rifle - Or pistol? (Or bottle)
to my mouth, pointed at heaven. I'll never miss.
And a
Take me up like damp coffee dust
at the end of the pot. Drink me and
then spit me out. Paint your
teeth the colour of rot.
I suggest you wash your mouth
if you'd rather smile than not.
i.
Stuck in stasis, I squirm within
the amnion that is my mother's basement.
I lift my head, and hear the heartbeat of
shuffled footsteps travel to me. I send them
back with empty plates, and continue
to overstay my welcome within a womb of waste.
I hear the heart falter and crash.
Is anybody there?
I kick the placenta -
twice for good measure.
No reply.
I gasp for air.
I cry.
ii.
I am born within the ambulance
at the age of thirty four. A trio of
paramedics cut the cord between me and
my mother. She's hoarded to one room, I
to another with magazines and linoleum floors.
I tug at the sleeve of the nurse; ask
her to r
I needed a photo frame that day. I
needed a way to hang a picture from
its neck, upon a wall, or even less
just hammer a nail in its chest. Tired
of it lying on my desk, on the floor, soaked
with dust and all the rest.
The photo isn't our best, but,
it's me and you. And we're not smiling, it's
one of those "didn't-see-the-camera" findings,
more true to the eye - the unskilled lens
catching a flare from the light, its arms
dividing us with a line. My favourite picture
of the night.
Instead, this photo is still somewhere in my room
or closet - our situation something chronic. We're not
together but 'we're still friends'. That
Goodness!
The way you walk this town at night! As if
You expect the stars to swoon and drop down;
The moon to relinquish his crown and praise
You for outshining the day.
Must say,
I admire the way you never frown at defeat,
Because realistically, you're no more
The Queen than you are the clown. Though,
As you are, you'd make the latter proud.
I'll make the call to
Sound the sirens. Loud.
We've got another casualty,
Trampled by her crowd.
You tragic little thing,
How do you like me now?
Welcome, welcome, boys and girls to
The greatest show you'll ever see.
This man is insane; please push to get in,
Ten percent off per wicked grin,
Fifteen for every deadly sin,
This man is here for the devil within.
Come watch, come watch, now don't delay
The gun at his head ain't got all day,
This is his first and only stay,
Please, everybody, right this way.
See that look upon his face?
From eyes to ears? That's pure disgrace!
His trembling lips can sense the taste
Of a soon-to-come bloody embrace.
This is the new entertainment
Brains for blood for lives for payment.
Please, keep this quiet,
As I'd rather it not heard,
Nor spoken. Lest, these words
Get broken and end up a mess.
I digress;
I barely remember when the stars -
Our stars -
Weren't tainted by the clouds. Or our heads.
What it was like when my mouth was untied.
And honestly, time after time,
I'm much less surprised.
Don't let your hands gather and bend,
And rest under your chin out of hate -
Or mine may have no place.
I know that is what's meant,
But let's pretend we're good.
We're great.
(And yes, it's still just me and you,
And yes, I will still wait,
And yes, you've had your fun.)
Oh,
I'm sorry, ho
Might paint something I might want to hang here someday. Might write something I might want to say to you someday. Might do something I'd be proud of someday. Mark my words, I might be something someday.
Favourite genre of music: Aural. MP3 player of choice: I have none. Skin of choice: Er. Favourite cartoon character: Courage the Cowardly Dog
Favourite Movies
The Mechanist, Donnie Darko, The Breakfast Club, Fight Club.
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Manic Street Preachers, MSI, Iron & Wine, Newton Faulkner.
Favourite Writers
Simon Armitage ATM
Favourite Gaming Platform
Gameboy Colour
Other Interests
Pizza. Spiders. Squeezing shaving foam on spiders. Pokemon. Family Guy. Animation. Donkey Punching.
Anyone still paying attention to my posts?! I know when I stopped updating so regularly, some of you fizzled out...
I love you all!?
Tonight, poems, I promise.
LbTs x
Finally, Royal Holloway University got back to me and gave me an offer for their English Literature and Creative Writing bA!
This means I can now put the poem online that was written for them. It is one of my favourites now.
<3
LbTs.
They've been submitted as part of my university application... I want to wait until they are done with it to put it on here in case it causes problems.
I think you'll like them though, stay posted, they will be up in a few days (I hope!)
I'm sorry if I haven't been on here for a while, I assume most of you have forgotten about me, but I am always writing and I can't wait to show you all these poems.
Love always,
LbTs x
Hey, not sure if you still post to here but I was an old account named Dratsun that used to watch your poems. Unfortunately I lost access to that account but made this one recently. It's good to see your poems and works again Hope to see you posting again soon