Month: June 2017

III: From Lull

Is it so fucking hard to simply be accepted by someone? Or is it just my destiny to walk through this wretched earth both hating and hated?

No, “hated” is far too strong. And “accepted” is also wrong.

Strike both of them. Shit.

Is it so hard to just mean something to someone – there, that sounds better already – rather than just… mediocre? I mean, it’s a rough estimation here, but I’m certain that’s what every human aspires to. People want to be loved, they want to be someone’s Number One, they want to be the first and last thought in someone’s head of a day. And then you have the people who will be happy with being hated… the ones who enjoy revelling in the anger and misery of others. You’ll probably still remember someone who did you very wrong twenty years down the line.

And that means – what? – that they mean something to you, correct? Yes – I might be someone’s brother, but that means shit. Of course Lois will remember me always, I’ll be so important to her. But she doesn’t count, why would she? She’s been around me long enough – and I around her – for both of us to piss each other off.

Although I don’t remember ever pissing her off. She pisses me off though.

But – where was I? Oh. I’d rather mean something, something real, to someone. Being a brother doesn’t count. And, and I know I say this with hypocrisy and a scoff, I’d rather be on someone’s Nice list than their Naughty list. Why wouldn’t I want someone to smile fondly at my memory, as blunt and unfriendly as it is.

Perhaps I’m just going soft, perhaps I’m… no, never mind. I don’t know what I mean.

It just… it’s sigh-worthy. I’m not someone’s anything. I’m anyone’s nothing.

Jesus Christ, I’m everyone’s nothing.

Come and Dance with Me

Come and dance with me – no?

Come and dance with me – no,

Come and dance with me,

Oh please. And don’t you reject me,

 

Come and dance with me – “yes?”

Come and dance with me – “yes,”

Come and dance with me,

Oh come and dance with me?

 

Come. Come. Come. Come – Come – Come.

Dance. Dance. Dance – Dance – Dance – Dance.

 

Come and dance with me – oh!

Come and dance with me – oh!

Come and dance with me – oh!

Come and dance with me – oh!

 

Just dance.

I’m sick of waiting for you.

If you won’t dance with me then –

Just dance, just dance, just dance, just dance.

 

Just.

Dance.

Hardly Even a Sonnet

Dipping – dancing – curling – swirling,

And a thousand other words for the actions of the heart

when its cantering pace is trebled by the next morsel of

attractive flesh sauntering its carefree way by.

And aren’t they all piti-

ful. An exacting standard for any romantic – hopeless

or otherwise – prepared to dip his quill to pen his passion,

And make the nib just dance across papyrus –

New hand-written font,

The curls and stresses of Es and Cs,

The swirls and tresses of Yous and Mes,

A stanza set apart – just like – the harsh arrhythmia

that unrequited craving brings—

 

… And whose curséd spell I remain beneath. Damn.

I: Air of London – I’m stuck on the ceiling

I am stuck on the ceiling. Do I know how I got there? No. I forgot my own name. Several times. But I consider there are more… pressing concerns. I’m stuck on the ceiling. I think I said that before. But I’m up where they hang the stars, with their long poles, and I wonder sometimes what they hang them on. Or if they just stayed up by themselves.

I can confirm there are hooks they hang the stars from. From the ceiling. But, while it’s a good discovery, I’d rather have both soles of both feet back on the streets on the ground, not up here. I can’t do anything up here.

Perhaps this is just a description in itself though, while remaining calm at least. I’m up here, all alone, with my mouth shut. But to me it seems like everyone else is up there. With their mouths open. And do they look up at me? No. No no no no no! They don’t know I exist. Yet here I am.

Stuck on the damned ceiling.