Busy body

Chug a coffee Keep it solid Strong and stable Stripes and fables Lines in sand Rows of grave holes Life’s Las Vegas No hours contract No hours contact Times held back Behind cash stacks Behind fat cats Thrice blind rats Stay the course Fight the tide Run the mill Read my lines Read on Or read over Never between Every defeat Cleverly seen As flaw or crack Stacks all packed In your subordinates Like insecurities Similar to injury It’s not me it’s you It’s not fair it’s true If we change anew Thoughts enough Swallow the juice Gas the bees Gotta make honey Sweet dreams

ire

Rain down you ashy titan
a heavy chain of heated ions
tied on throats of weeping lions
the sea of Egypt red and rising
solitude to isolation
glossy eyes with gripping vessels
but the grip of canines causes rising tension
explanation:
Perplexed
enraged
the delivery that never came
the lie dissolved upon re-entry
the loss of love
death of many
Angry sad
the hopeless lad
swelled with pain
stitched up mouth

Expectations

I think I might die.
I hope that's okay,
I don't know if you loved me,
if you did you might cry.

I miss all the living.
I'm left with a life,
if a verb has no feeling,
its a noun deep inside.

But my words have no meaning.
Without action racing behind,
like that frayed and tethered cord,
plunging to its final snap.

Yet if my skin turns palid.
Just like festering maggots,
then the flies on my corpse,
gain more purpose than I did.

I don't want my life.
I hope it's not bitter,
but even if I fail to use my gifts,
MAMA DIDNT RAISE NO QUITTER!

So every sitting shower,
with every beer I've downed,
crowding all around me,
the choir announcing,
that I will fail,
"how astounding".

I wasn't born to stick the landing.
I don't cry because I'm failing,
I am not lost but simply floundering,
When I rise tomorrow,
I will smile again.

whole words

Love
over the years we lose
vying for what we want
even if it ends

Hate
anyone who grips your pretty ankles
taunting at your hope
even if you're wrong

Trust
revel in those who earn it
understand it will be lost
stand against the storm
till you break and fall

Stop
tell me the facts are lying
obey my desperate wish
please me when I'm wrong

Go
only two letters make me one again

Self satiety

Do you have a passion

or are you just abjectly

walking through glass house's

fixated on what's watching 

the focus of white watchers

while thinking of which want

will impress your onlookers

what makes you inferior

shirts or interior 

the fiery soul ripped

out a defrosted freezer

dream to be neon

don't last for eons

brightly burn out

or be shattered in fear

of the bold and the bright

there's no colour in light

but bleed on a bulb

if red is all you want.

Trust me

I've never felt healthy While bad men are wealthy With fancy whips Wristwatches and jewelry Girlfriends kept cruelly Close to the bedroom While others creep in Ain’t it slick How they slip Out of girls who aren’t her Never admit Never Quit Keep spluttering Muttering virile shit Then smiles for the gram While she cries behind him Friends won’t deny him Cause silver tounges Spray redemption And apologetic half confessionals Shame about her Sucking devil dick Tastes better than honesty If only the charm he had modestly Reduced like his moral reach While the meandering and pandering Lands into a final straight Why are you a shitty friend?

Veg stock

take a little bit of sadness

throw it deep inside the pot

don't tell anyone about it

we want emotions to be lost

now leave the pot in a corner

feverish but out of sight

check on it late at night

scream bloody murder inside

cut yourself and let the blood run in

take the hate you have and add it in

over time the pile will grow

with fetid greens and moldy fuzz

seeping juice and virile gasses

the mass inside the pot should be dense

mucus clinging with depressing strength

more than you've got 

less rot than your heart

or broken parts

matter of fact this pot of filth is worthwhile

but your not 

so piss off

crawl into your own pot 

shrivel into something useful 

like veg stock

but even your the worst of the lot 

I love veg stock

versatile and cheap

compared to meat

better still 

while being flavour filled

cures the sad and ill

without the need to be distilled

I love the broth it coats my lips

sticks to my ribs and fills my hips

it's deep and rich an hot as fuck

it's overlooked that kind of sucks

Victoria's sponge

Classier than clotted cream
she sandwiches me between
the sheets of good intentions
and unhealthy conventions
with sweeter sayings than
strawberry jam and I can take
each seed of sweetness
she feeds me honestly
because her layers are promising
the foundations are strong
yet she's fluffy and light
a subtle vanilla sponge
that sits neatly on my tongue
till I wrap myself around her
 that's the best thing about cake
you'll always go back for more

Brandy snaps

Ever had heart-break sharper than a biscuit

Within her, the sadness simmers gently 

while the fat rises up 

the scums on the surface but you didn't skim it off

when your friends fail to notice

that's when friends fall off

rooftops

and pots splatter

stove tops

without comfort

mug shots

life gets lost

But give a girl a little care

the same way you give a meat rub

sweaty grips and tracing skin with fingertips

laced with ginger kisses

followed up by meringue words

gentle sweet and fragile

not to be sustained 

till one day 

we fix this 

and her heart becomes a biscuit

but recipes get repeated 

 

Fried rice

Fried rice on a late night
a transition from the sunlight
to have a lunar eye hang high
hope to hell that I don't blink twice

cause I rarely spot the passing time
might be the tears across my eyes
blocking sight like grains of rice
falling so gradually
but now the rice has filled the pan
maybe my tears can top it off
so when it boils ill hold the salt
cause my seasoning is sadness

its a dash of powder in a dish
inside the ocean just one fish
I'm sad now ill be sad again
but the sun rises and I'm glad again

 

concrete

We live in a society
and I'm trying to be
the nicest I can be
but I'm sick of all the niceties

so why do we
smile at every person on the street
when inside their hearts
could  be blacker than the tar
beneath our feet

No, I'm not  perfect
but I think everyone's a little grey
like concrete mixing
people arent a solid state yet
but I wonder how
beautiful we'd all become
if like a poorly maintained country lane
despite the flaws, we'd all just carry on.

That's unfair
because the roads fall on a system
that relies on all the guys
smoking cigars in ivory buildings
to come and fix them
but sometimes when you're a person
you fall out of the loop
and all the roads lead to nowhere
and when they do you find a noose
that's being held up by you

so who cares about bad people
or the reasons why
being nice is hard
cause in our heads were all bad guys

marrionette

Wasnt born to wax poetic
Though it calms the mind when I feel pathetic
Wish my dad was Henson
At least id have direction
But the frog in my throat
doesn't let me say this.

in a conversation, I'm one of the crickets minimalnoise in a backdrop of silence.
I guess me and Kermit have more in common
we both have our holes
he just knows how to fill his.
But my friends do tell me
"you keep getting bent over and..."
Shafted to the sidelines
Thrusted into the spotlights
Make up your mind guys.

A conscious mind or a menace
A lost soul or a sinner
who the fuck is he
I wish I knew me

Coaster

Front seat and I'm strapped in

Stationary now I’m relaxing

Can’t see a track but it’s laid out

This rollercoaster is played out

But the ride it gives is sold out 

because once you're in you don’t get out.

Hit the switch

Boost the power

Climb the incline

Smiling wider

Heart is floating

Far from grounded

Feel no more pain

If clouds surround me

I’m happy.

There will be plummets

I’m sure of that

with a joyous frown

ill wait it out.

With a joyous frown I’ll wait it out

The sun from the Teletubbies had it right

maybe I'm comfortable just where I am
coasting around like the sea and the sand
unimpressed when you see where I stand
but honestly I just feel the breeze and I'm,
glad.
people want moments
dreamers want fame
the greedy want money
all of its lame
I just want grins on the daily
kids one day maybe
and a reason to get up and still feel okay,
is that too much to ask?

everybody wants an ending

I see you sitting down,
so soft and silent.
You've got that hidden frown,
But you're still smiling.
You still can't figure out,
If livings worth the price.
Your minds in constant bout,
Shame the opponents Mike
Tyson.
The thoughts an anchor its
tied on.
Your eyes are sunk like ships
tired one.
Just want to sleep but scared to
try once...

Drowning in the pessimism,
Begging for an ear to listen,
Running from a faulty system,
But the wires run for miles,
And the copper in the cables,
Is heavy on your ankles.
To busy looking for an off switch,
To consider disconnecting.
Thunder before the storm
Never heard, never noticed

Bleached hearts

I've got a bleached heart,
Faded little engine that'll jump start,
At the thought of love,
But the love is always off-white.

Skin kissed with burn scars,
Heart scared from the lost ones,
Bleach  baths for when its all wrong,
Sink low and wash the pain off.

Clean slates are getting kind of lonely,
companionships leave the waters muddy,
gotta keep it clean,
save my heart from trouble.
Porcelain dreams,
love without a struggle.

Shame about the lack of colour,
Red is passion, rage, and pain.
Blue is sorrow, Loss, and tears
White is nothing.

To whoever comes next,
Rip the hear out of my chest,
Paint the whole thing
Red or blue?

Spaceman

Houston, do I detect a sign of loss?

Houston, can you read me or have the tears cut you off?

Houston, do you need a moment to yourself?

Houston, there is no blame for you to bear.

Houston, remember there’s nothing you could have done.

Houston, you gave us all the care you could from home.

Houston, the job you have it isn’t fair.

Houston, I have to go, we're almost there okay?

Houston cried as the ship barrelled into the sun

Failing to sleep

Muffled murmurs like clangers in the moon pits,

Equally restless earwigs preventing me from drifting,

every whisper leaves me seething.

Little patters in the walls,

echoed voices in the halls,

ghosts of common equity, the recently deceased.

I want to cave your fucking head in.

I just want to reach sweet dreams but

when I’m counting sheep,

the only bleat I hear

is from your lips

shut them up.

I’m getting sleep less,

midnight is not for the selfless,

you want to help us?

Pin your throat shut,

strap yourself down,

before the throbbing in my head forces me

to put you underground.

Impatient pacing laced with self-obsessed complacency.

I’m not impatient just exhausted with the vagrancy.

The man inside the basement placing strains upon me mentally.

Gardening minds

You know that feeling you get, a sort of sludgy wave of relief coated in pity, when seeing anything remotely living that has the very air around them crushing them. Doesn’t matter why; sadness, psychosis, death, diseases, hunger, loneliness, fatigue. The list runs on, but the feeling is always the same. A heavy guilt that causes your eyes to lock on, the heart rattling at the ribs, throwing affection outwards. But in the deepest recess of the mind, small gremlins pull the strings, pull us away. That deep sneering thought that as much as we should help, we don’t want to catch it.

‘It’: the indefinable characterization of sadness usually displayed through a slow physical rot of the original person. The harrowed face of a widow, the black eyes of the abused, the cheekbones of the starved, the browning teeth of an addict. Sights that call for sympathy are not often the easiest to look at. So often we are the only ones able to wrestle with our problems, these towering viscous blobs that swallow us up from within, wearing tears as jewelry and rummaging its heavy sticky fingers through our mind. Searching for the key to unlock our fragility.

Take Jeremiah. Now I don’t want to spoil anything but to illustrate, he plods about directionless, hunched over never looking forward and generally distracted in his own head. Sweet but utterly doomed. I often watch him and just wait for the day he snaps and careers into oncoming traffic without a second thought. I watch him mumble and repeat himself, I watch him start and never finish, I watch his clothes fade and crease, I watch his eyes sag and face sink. He is such a wet wipe. I love him but Christ, the boy went to the GP once and when they asked him why he was there, he froze up and blurted out some shit about asthma. Asthma isn’t making you sleep all weekend, asthma isn’t making you cry when don’t get a text all day, you don’t live off baked beans because it’s a dietary requirement of asthma.

It’s fine though, I’ve got a plan. He went out last night and doesn’t have a choice where he wakes up. I do though. Oh - I’m Frank by the way. You’ll be seeing more of me later. Just thought I’d give the shallow tale of sad old Jeremiah a good introduction. Anyway, got to finish setting up this boy’s rehab.

---

JEREMIAH, WAKE UP.

I don’t think I could open my eyes if I wanted to. I know I’m probably wasting the day away right now, but the thought of the sun hitting my eyes makes my head pound even more. The searing pain is nothing compared to the worry as to where I am. I feel cold, so I suppose I really did freak that girl out in the club. Though I also doubt I got back to my own place, otherwise I’d be curled up in the foetal position under two quilts waiting for the hangover to fade as I am reborn. I can’t hear any wind whipping past me though, no bouncer telling me to get up and get out again. I could just nap again quickly, let the aches and woes mellow down. Hopefully the ringing and the mental clatter lowers down to a gentle droning hum. As I toss and turn to return to rest, I feel intense tingles of nerves dance up my spine with a feverish heat. My hands are twitching anxiously, almost detached from own body, and in my head the world is painted around me as a starry night of eyes gazing down upon me with incandescent judgment. Launching up from the floor, I finally open my own eyes - nothing. Where in the actual fuck did I end up? Did I get locked in the bathroom at the club? There is something I can tell for sure though, that smell, the easy pungency that turns air into an aromatic hot tub, massaging the mind until you feel like melting into a warm content puddle. Lavender. Flowers and darkness. Only tequila could drive a man to wake up in flower store with no recollection. At least I have a good story to tell.

I never thought that all the one-night stands would come in handy. Perhaps I can put navigating dark spaces on my skills section of the CV.

Fuck, never mind. That was definitely a chair leg. Fun fact about your pinkie toe, apparently the bones are so small that in fact you often break them without ever feeling it. Cool, right?  Even so I bite my tongue trying not to yelp out. Good news is like a bat  I have used sound to create a vision, there is a chair and... well, that’s all I know right now. I haven’t perfected echo-location, only slipping away from responsibilities. While I’ve been locked in my own thoughts, I failed to notice the faint fizzle and buzz of electricity. Finally, I might be able to figure out how many buses I’m getting home. Just then, Z-zzz-zzzzap, there’s a light, a single bulb, a dangling uvula finally giving me a sense of direction. I finally get to see, hold on…

That wasn’t a pause for vomit, it was dramatic tension. The chair I mentioned is here, placed on one side of a metallic dull IKEA-esque desk with another adjacent. It’s reminiscent of those Interrogation scenes you always see on bad cop dramas. The walls are closer to something from Videodrome, seeming to be fog-like but almost solid too. How can I explain? If you’ve ever mixed cornstarch and water together you’ll understand what I mean. They seem to be floaty and almost liquid like but at the same time solid. Christ, I don’t dare touch it, I’ve read enough horror stories to know the moment I touch that gloopy mass I’m getting swallowed, shredded and spat out like tuna chunks. God, I hope I don’t vomit again. Back to the point, though - what is actually going on? I want to play it off as a dream, but my toe is still sore. The barriers around me are not black per se, but seemingly just absent of anything else. Looking up, you can see the long rubber cord holding the bulb as it gently sways but where the cord ends is indistinguishable from the beginning of the “walls”.

SIT DOWN, WOULD YOU KINDLY?

Okay, fuck that. No seriously, where’s the hidden camera? My ribs feel like they are curling inwards, my breath is desperately heavy, the walls that were once empty seem to have a blue hue swimming through it. As my eyes dart around the room the smell of lavender seems to increase to saccharine levels, my veins feel like coursing rapids but my head seems to have left for a coffee break, intense physical fear offset by mental dissonance. As my eyes stop chasing the movement in the walls, I look back to the desk and is that-

“I swear to god if you pass out now I’m not catching you,” chirped a grumpy Scot’s voice. Funnily enough, I don’t feel-

---

Well, didn’t think I looked that bad. Bless, he looks quite cute with the blood drained from his face. Adds a bit of goth to his normal hipster vibes. Then again, his wardrobe isn’t exactly the spectrum of choice. For someone built like a stick insect, I don’t half feel like I’m dragging a log across the floor, weights probably coming from those oxblood Docs that are always glued to the boy’s feet. I always thought to move a body was a pain in the arse. I was right, but it’s even worse when I know he’ll be up again in a moment. Even more so, he doesn’t have to dress so bloody cliché, skinny jeans, bomber jacket all wrapped up with some edgy ironic shirt. Wanker. Right just gotta - HUNGGHHHH - plop him in the chair, perfect. Now, as long as he stays there we can get started as long as he doesn’t-
THUD.

Shit.

---

Oh fuck, that killed, what a mental bloody dream, must have fallen out of bed. See, I thought I saw. “Your own Jacob Marley?” yelled something in my direction. Skinless, the veins seemingly crawling along the meat like worms, his limbs dead weight at his sides with shriveled hands, his body arched in a way that made him always seem to be heading towards you, his head bulbous, eyes big glistening black mirrors. I could actually see myself in them - bedhead suits me. But where I really lost it was the top of his head. A single abnormal daisy resting atop, bloody, fleshy and deeply rooted in the skull, the mingling of two natures to make one disgustingly hideous sight. It throbbed erratically. I froze up.

“Well we don’t have long, sit down would you,” it calmly stated, flopping an appendage in the general direction of the chair. So, I stood there. It gazed at me, head tilted, just as still as me. My breath was racing and sharp in my throat, still stood there.

“WILL YOU JUST SIT DOWN, YOU MONG!” it roared at me. I shuffled over to the chair and desk combo tugging at the chair to allow some breathing room. Planting myself down I watched as it stared at me further. It sighed. “Do these arms look like their doing anything?”  It shrugged defeatedly. Feeling some relief, I whisked myself round to the other side to give them some breathing room. Hearing a wet slapping sound, I noticed them approaching so made a hurried turn back to my seat. Mirroring one another we slumped back in the seats, I took one nervous glance around the room we were in then faced one another. Coughing, I perked up. “I-I don’t know you do, I?”

There was a brief moment where we locked eyes trying to discern the level of connection. “Well it’s not like you’ve got that many mates, but it has been a while I’ll give you that.” As I focused on not getting swallowed up in the glossy black domes it had for eyes, everything just clicked like the flint on a lighter. Frank.

---

I can’t believe he bloody forgot about me. “Frank, is that you?” Jeremiah called out like some damsel in distress.

“Well, it’s hardly Jiminy Cricket,” I chuckled. Looking on I saw his smile and facelift up in relief, but behind the depressing disbelief was already rolling in. How low do you sink before your imagination steps in to pull you out again?

“Is this like a dream or some sort of epiphany type deal, what’s actually going on and, where are we?” He started to ramble on, trailing ever further from himself and nit-picking every minute detail, I threw myself forward, planting my head into the desk with a resounding thud, a sticky pulp slapping against cold aluminum. He shuts up and locks down, silent and frozen.

“You are here because you need to sort yourself out,” I groan as I straighten up again. He sits there hopelessly, eyes glazed over, just begging to run away and deal with all of this another time, but he can’t.

Time to thaw him a little.

“It’s a lot to deal with, especially the appearance, to be frank, there’s not much sense in what’s going on. So, rather than focus on that let's start talking about you. How have you been mate?” My words extend and linger sincerely before he slumps down mumbling.

“Yeah, you know, not great but okay, all things considered, bit confused, but err, yeah, good.” He pauses while glancing up occasionally, waiting for someone to drag away the vocal spotlight, but the stage was all his.  He takes a half breath. “How about yourself, been up to much recently?” I stare on, watching him squirm, eyes darting around for something to fixate on. He’s like a housewife in a failing marriage, cleaning endlessly even when the house is spotless, begging for a distraction.

 “Y-your hairpiece is…” he chirps up before yet again meeting my stoic gaze. “Never mind, that was dumb, look what do you want me to do exactly,” he retorts with a mild level of assertion.

“Well look at you, don’t get snappy, I just want you to be honest, that’s all.” The words fall off the tongue. As they do, my ‘hairpiece’ begins to pump out that smell he loves so much. It wafts my words and it all hits poor Jeremiah at once. His eyes start to wobble at the brink of overflowing, his facial structure is scrunching and attempting to hold it all back. A tear patters onto the table, the polar opposite of my previous headbutt,

“I’m just so alone Frank, I’m always alone, there could be one hundred people around me but they just blur into nothingness like the walls of this shithole.” A deep breath and tearful huff “I feel so lost and alone, even just one person would help.” He brings his knees up to his face and starts to sob full throttle, gross noises and all.

“Help?” I quiz him, he looks up confused “With what? You said you were all good, not great but okay.” I declare in a dramatically naive fashion, begging for a reaction, leaning in, grinning at him as he looks on in disbelief. More “All this just seems like your average overdose of self-pity, you can’t tell me it’s that bad, you feel a bit sad, nothing more to it and to be honest I feel like I’ve wasted my time.” Now for the crescendo “And I have time to spare because just like these feelings it’s all in your bloody head, not even real enough for me to deal with it let alone you.” To my surprise, he barrels forward.

---

That prick deserved it. Frank is sprawled on the ground motionless.

“Don’t fuck with me like that, you think you can get someone to open up just by cracking a joke or two? I confessed my lack of company, just told how much it hurts to not be able to talk, so you fucking ridicule me?” as a yell at him with my new found anger, he chuckles, laughs away my anger like I was shouting to the wind. My arms start to quiver and my clammy fists unfurl. Nothing. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut as I fall down to the floor myself “and it doesn’t matter how hard I try because every time I end up the same, pushing people away and being trapped with my own thoughts.” I stare over at him and in his eyes and in them is a portrait of a man with a face of sorrow but no tears to spare.

He looks up, sighs briefly then in some mousy tone- “can you help me up?” My body unwinds slightly and everything seems to soften; I stare at the angry Scottish Contortion and I can’t help but see is a roach stuck on its back, struggling and aware of its inferiority.

Seconds pass like minutes and the minutes feel frozen in time. “What?” I’m confused but moreover, I’m nervous “You get to punch me down while I just take it,” taking a pause to collect my feeling I watch as he loses the smile he had been holding on to “But when I finally punch you back, all I’m really doing is hitting myself”

His eyes seem to sink back further in his bloated skull and the petals of the daisy atop his head curl up. We’re trapped - he makes no movement nor response and it’s left to me. Looking at his arms, I know he can’t get up without me, however, I feel frozen in place and my arms are just as lifeless as his.

“Do I have to touch you?” is all I can muster a gentle stuttering mumble. The pressure in the air seems to lighten, tension dissipating.

“I’m not that bad, the feeling is less sticky, more… moist,” He offers. I gather myself a little and shamble behind him, reaching down to slowly lift him up. Before wading over to the desk and slumped down into the seats. Here we are, square one.

---

After helping me up I took a good a minute, looking down at the desk where the spray from my headbutt mingled with the droplets of tears, the blood and tears swirling into one another to form a pool of rouge sadness in the center.  

I look up to Jeremiah. He’s pulling back into himself, I thought I knew how to handle the boy, not make him lose his grip. He breathes in, and as I see him prepare to exhale endless apologies I catch him mid-breath. “Don’t be sorry, I was out of line. Nothing else to it.” I watch him stammer and try to conjure up some form of self-abuse – martyr himself for no good reason. “Look I’m not here to argue semantics, I’m here for you.”

He looks up, hopeful eyes in a hopeless face. “Are you? I’m not a kid with no friends being teased and taunted. I just don’t feel great, and no amount of sly jokes and yelling is going to just bury that.” His voice sounded crushed. I imagine it’s how the Germans must have sounded accepting the treaty of Versailles. He slowly pushes back the chair from the desk, conceding any thought of victory. “So Frank, I appreciate the help, but how do I get out?”

I don’t reply. He gets up and starts to pace, observing the foggy surroundings for any cracks or openings. As he does, the misty walls start to swirl more aggressively, seeming to almost bubble with a deep merlot.


 “I don’t mean to alarm you, but the fog doesn’t seem to be friendly,” I tell him as he backs off before returning back to the desk. He turns to me.

“You didn’t answer me; how do I get out of here, Frank?” Jeremiah probes at me.

“I’ve already told you, you have to confront your problems, grab the bull by the horns and all that jazz.”

“And I already told you, I’m just struggling right now. I’m just sad.”

“That’s still a problem, which will have its roots. Things don’t have to be catastrophic events or tragic losses to require you to do something about them. Jeremiah, I wouldn’t do all of this for no good reason. Your suffering, that well of sorrow that bears down on you day after day, it doesn’t need to be like that, nor should it. I’m here to tell you that when the negatives start to outweigh the positives in any situation, you have to address it and that’s why you’re here stuck with me. Can I explain it any fucking clearer or is that something else we have to address?” My words are probably a bit too heated, but I think I’m getting through to him.

---

“Let me get this straight: you want me to sit here somehow solve not only any and all emotional turmoil, but to do so in some fantasyland side room with an aggressive imaginary Scotsman showing me the way to an epiphany. Is that correct?” I try frank’s heavy-handed sarcasm to make it clear I’m sick of these circles I’m running in, but frankly I just don’t have the time to resolve it. No amount of blurry fog or flower-headed flesh monster is going to be able to give me that time. Hell, even if Frank had all the time in the world, would he ever be able to work me through it? A therapist couldn’t, how could he?

“I’m not here to fix your problems, far from it, I just need you to try.” Frank groans He’s staring right at me, but his eyes seem soft - less piercing than normal.

“Jeremiah, when I brought you here, you didn’t even think you had an issue. Now you’re looking for help.” The wall fog seems to back away and almost has a teal tinge to it, leaving the room open as it recedes. As I watch the light flicker precariously. “I can’t solve your issue, despite how aggressive I get, but you can. Just promise me one thing. If I let you leave, you gotta try and fix this shit. ‘Try’ is the optimal word. Can you do that you asswipe?” Grinning as the last sentence leaves his mouth. He sounds happy, almost relieved, and despite his horrid appearance that I have become grossly accustomed to, there’s a warmth in me knowing that he’s on my side.

“Sure, I will take some time to figure out what’s going on. As long as I don’t get dragged back here anymore. Deal?” I extend a hand out to shake on the bargain before quickly withdrawing it, forgetting Frank’s arms were limply immobile. Frank let out one last hearty laugh before he shut his eyes.

“See you around.”

Plumes of black smoke billowed from the flower on his head and the fog walls came rushing in converging towards the center of the room. Seeing the light shatter and fizz out and before I could scream in betrayal, darkness.

---

Raw

Plagued by voyeuristic visions, Tracing round the curvy visage

The pressing tension placed upon you, when I’m hanging from your lips.

I’m hanging on to common sense, your hands are hanging from my hips

Too content with my eyes dangling from the socket, to gain some foresight

Stop clinging to a fading body.

Veins seize up to a warming touch, hearts hiding in internal combustion

Brains send whispers to the growing flame, eyes dancing with feverish heat

Ferality flickers in intimate quivers, howls of release

The taste of raw meat.

Tender hands run down the spine, passion soon scrapes its tally marks

Voracious heat pulsing inside, sticky bodies locked in time

Frantic panting of paces rising, squirming for release

A frayed wire guillotine.

Rising tempos laced with deeper bass, rolling heads carry tightened faces

Before the crescendo reaches the peak, the final notes released

Silence sits.

A poem about knowing somethings wrong

Sycophants united under paisley corridors,

Mumbled words creep through pursed lips

Sufferers and saviours divided by doors.

Meek creatures curled up with clipboards,

Unsteady hands scribble unstable words

Like the lines on the skin, deeply scored.

Approach the desk, request the form,

Don’t want a panic reel it back

My thoughts are locusts see one, see the swarm.

Behind the safety glass the office robot asks,

“Mr Adler will see you now”

Empty eyes rise up to look for the man with the mask.

The plastic stoicism that draws you in,

Relaxed lips let the tongue coerce the words from your throat,

Before they make your mask to contain the mental din.

I will not cosy up to clean smiles.

I am the loathing neurosis that hides.

I am my problems they keep me alive.

The hypocrisy swirls around my head,

The hollow sockets of doctors push the thoughts in

I dragged myself here but left my honesty in bed.

His questions hang like a hook on a suture,

Even silence leaves me alone and exposed

Therapist: the shorthand for rabid pursuers.

My heart pushes desperately to induce caring delirium,

Turn the talking into physical displays of internal suffering

I push it down while my leg bounces violently to make it clear to him.

Pushed in a corner seat his hand comes out in gentle outreach,

A low hanging face asks me “do you think this would help?”

I couldn’t even answer, my thoughts deafened his speech.

“Don’t think we’ve forgotten, we’ll be in contact in a few weeks”