poetry

~ Something Beautiful is Going To Come ~

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~ Something Beautiful is Going To Come ~

The hangover has me in its teeth once again
An ant infestation leaves little bites on my stomach
I watch another random woman leave
Another transient lover lost to time and space
As the mosquitoes now circle above
And the air conditioning doesn’t work
The sweat pours down my forehead
And the construction workers grind away outside.

This is what they call suffering, I guess
This time in a cheap hotel somewhere in Vietnam
The rain has been pouring down for two weeks now
I spend the day staring at walls; drinking water desperately
Until a break in the rain allows me to finally go get some food
But then the heavy rain returns and I sit under an umbrella
Listening to it pounding, the little droplets leaking through
Dampening the remnants of my dinner.

After two hours, I realise it isn’t going to stop
So I grab my bike and cycle home in the storm
Wading through dark streets without a light
As angry cars splash puddles upon me
And the rats scurry into dark corners
And my sandals slip off the pedals
Before I finally return to my lair.

I don’t know how I ended up here
Age thirty-four, dwelling in this foreign place
Without purpose or passion; at the mercy of life’s pests
The ants, the mosquitoes, the cockroaches, the rats
They have found me and closed in
They know a dying creature when they see one
And they wait to feast on my flesh.

But I am still alive for now
And I walk into the bathroom once more
Staring at my wrinkled, tired face
In this dirty, mouldy, broken mirror
Those eyes without energy or excitement
That tell the story of a defeated man
Who couldn’t quite find his way
In life’s savage wilderness.

I guess I am just another ugly soul stuck in an ugly place
But I stare into those tired eyes and believe
That someday, soon, something beautiful is going to come.

I hold onto that hope as the rain pounds down on the roof
And hear the workers still grinding away
Even though I know they are no longer there
It’s all around me; against the walls of my rattled skull
In the vessels of my heart; in the chamber of my delapidated soul.

But still, I stare into that gory reflection
And believe that someday, soon, something beautiful is going to come
Knowing I am not the only man nor the last to stand in such a spot
Where life feels vacant, and it truly feels like the end of the line
But something within stops him from stepping into the abyss
The enduring illusion of hope; the lightbulb still flickering.

And tonight I stand alone with the lost and the loveless
With the ones that sit around dwindling fires in dark places
Who are stuck in the sewers and swamps
Trying to summon some strength
To shake themselves free from the sludge
To rise up into the light once more
And let that illusion not be an illusion
But a beautiful truth that saves one from total destruction
The beautiful truth that allows me to collapse into this bed
Looking up at the mosquitoes still circling above
Feeling the bites on my skin; the anxiety in my blood
And fall asleep dreaming, still dreaming
That someday, soon, something beautiful
Is going to come. 

thoughts

~ Far from Home ~

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~ Far From Home ~

I sat drunk and alone in that hotel room, far from home, realising I had gotten older and that my life was gradually spiralling out of control. When I stopped and thought about it, my behaviours had become more extreme over the last few years, and I had all the hallmarks of another doomed soul drifting into the darkness, slowly losing his way until there was no way – just a wide expansive wilderness which swallowed him up. I could see the pitiful headline of my life being written; another young death, someone who went off the rails, consumed by mental illness and addiction. I could imagine the comments from friends and relatives. I could imagine their momentary sentimental reflections at the funeral before everyone carried on with their lives. Yes, it was as I sat there that I saw it all unfolding clearly before me. But it was also at that moment that I realised the awareness of such a fate was perhaps enough to do something about it. It was at that moment that I got up and stared at my tired eyes in the mirror. It was at that moment that I decided I was going to do something radical. It was at that moment, in that hotel room, that I decided I was going to save myself.

poetry

~ End of the Empire ~

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~ End of the Empire ~

Smoke finally clearing
As our love lies smashed to pieces
In ruin, I stand among the rubble
“It’s over,” logic tells me. “There’s no repairing this…“
“Not this time…”

Time to finally move on
And drift out of each other’s lives
To become memories and recounted stories
Perhaps even wonders of what might have been
On some quiet future nights
When the heart is feeling restless
But nothing more than that.

I start heading outward
But can’t help but find myself stopping
And picking up the pieces of our scattered castle
Holding them in my hands.

Memories of cooking together
Shared laughter by the fire
Dog walks in the woods
Soft kisses on the cheek

One by one, I pick them up
And thoughts of rebuilding
Soon enter my foolish mind
As I stand alone in this wasteland
Studying the fractured remains
Occupying this empty space
These fingers numb with the feeling
Of knowing some things can’t be fixed

But holding onto them, anyway.

poetry

~ The Radical Thing ~

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~ The Radical Thing ~

Do the radical thing. 

Growing older, it’s so easy to sink into slumber
The sofa groove; the spiritual chamber
The suppressed desires and unspoken words
It’s so easy to accept the weight of the adult world
And let those slumped shoulders form
As you stand with the others on the assembly line.

But do the radical thing
And nurture the parts inside yourself
In whatever way that keeps those eyes shining
And letting that mouth speak words of meaning
As you continue on your truest path
Shaking off the forces that want you
To become another background character
Bitterly beeping in life’s traffic jam.

Do the radical thing.
And love yourself unashamedly
Don’t submit to mindless drudgery
Nor let the bottle or the pills
Numb you to a conditioned reality.

Let the sanctity of solitude
Remind you who you are;
Let the rhythm of happiness
Flutter in your heart.

Be someone that your child self
Would look up to and delight in
And nurture a life in which you live naturally
A life in which you live with integrity,

A life in which you live radically.

thoughts

~ The Science of Silence ~

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~ The Science of Silence ~

“A lot of people are sick and stressed and suffering and they simply don’t need to be. If one makes a radical choice to embrace simplicity, they can begin to realise how little one needs to be truly happy. Dare to take a period where you strip down your life to the fundamental basics; start with what you know you need – water, food, sleep, shelter. From there, regularly find some time to sit down in silence and focus on nothing but your breath. In that sacred space, one can find access to the richest parts of oneself. In that sacred space, the neurotic noise of the mind slowly fades away, and one can finally see with blinding clarity, the joyous beauty of their own existence.”

thoughts

~ Dazed and Confused ~

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~ Dazed and Confused ~

“I stood alone once again, my fragile heart somehow still beating. I often wondered how that thing kept working after all these years; after all the ache and pain I had put it through. Even it just cutting out for a minute would be understandable, but that beating just went defiantly on, pumping the blood through my veins, fueling my existential flame that flickered as a brief flash of light in this eternal universe. My heart obviously had more hope in me than the rest of me did. I wasn’t doing so great, but I was still here: a crooked smile on my face and dreams wafting around my hungover head. I stood dazed and confused at the age of thirty-two, wondering where the hell I was going to head next. My life path was like that of some vagrant wandering down a dark road on the edge of town, looking at the flickering lights of cheap hotels and wondering in which one he could momentarily rest before drifting on some more. It seemed that the youthful me who had fervently chased his dreams had changed to this sullen drifter of the night – a man simply searching for some shelter, rather than some grand haven. A man no longer trying to climb a mountain, but just summoning the strength to get out of bed. A man no longer trying to write some great novel, but just jotting down a few simple sentences. My god, what was I even becoming? I looked in the mirror and wanted to behold those eyes that stared fiercely back at me in my twenties, but such a life was now something seemingly in the past. The merciless dagger of time had taken its swing, and what was I but yet another man secretly bleeding out before everyone’s eyes.”

poetry

~ Rainy Days Ahead ~

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~ Rainy Days Ahead ~

Sitting alone in the corner of the pub
Trying to work on my laptop
While watching the old men drink ale at the bar
As the weather notification on my phone tells me
That there will be “rainy days ahead”

I’m back in Nottingham after spending the winter away
This time without a girlfriend
Who is now living in the hills of Barcelona
I bump into her friend while walking along the river
While sporting a drunken cut on my face
And riddled with hungover anxiety
Her friend is happy and now has a dog
I look like a wretched mess in comparison.

That was my second facial injury within a month
The other happened when I had my phone stolen
As the thieves broke into my online bank accounts
And transferred themselves generous amounts of money
On that same night my bike was also stolen
And I woke up with more wounds
Seeping into my bedsheets.

Oh well, it’s a new day, I say to myself
So I take a sip of my coffee and try to get back to work
But the old men at the bar have gotten louder
So I leave and walk a bit further into the city.

I’m on my way into the centre
And walking near my old girlfriend’s house
When a homeless man approaches me
He asks me to play AC/DC’s ‘Back in Black’ on my phone
I put it on and start chatting to him
He’s clearly insane but I end up buying him
A pack of cigarettes and some vodka
Despite trying to recoup my recent losses.

We chat for five minutes about nothing
Until I eventually say goodbye
For some reason, I even say “god bless”
Despite being a non-believer.

And then suddenly I’m in another bar
I don’t recognise anyone
And they don’t recognise me
I told myself I wouldn’t drink
But I order a strong lager anyway
I take a sip and pull out my phone
The battery is now running low
My friend is asking if I want to go out tonight
And the notification still tells me
That there’ll be rainy days ahead.

poetry

~ Deranged ~

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~ Deranged ~

I see normal people
Normal people with normal heads
Normal heads full of normal thoughts
Thinking about their wives and jobs
Or what they have to do when they get home
The next time they’ll visit their family
Or what show they’re going to watch
Before going to bed.

Those normal people
I know if they took one look inside this head
It would be like watching some foreign film
Without subtitles.

How is it even possible I ended up this way
So far removed from the rest
That I have to train my tongue
To act out a performance just to get by.

I’m honestly so tired of this
I’m so tired of this script
I’m so tired of this performance
And these predictable people.

I think it’s time to loosen this tongue
And let the normal people see
Just what’s inside my head
Even if it’s just insanity
Or irrationality
Or a deranged poem
From a deranged mind

In a deranged world.

poetry

~ Something Drastic Must be Done ~

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~ Something Drastic Must be Done ~

Tired of not blooming anymore
Tired of being over the best part
Looking at those sullen eyes
Those shrugged shoulders
Feeling that emptiness within
As the sunlight doesn’t reach the important spaces.

Tired of being on the wrong path
And knowing I took a wrong turn somewhere
Yet not doing anything about it.

Tired of speaking words I don’t mean
And sleepwalking down these streets
Being a productive member of society
While my soul lies in some deep sleep.

I want to grab it and awaken it
And run out the front door with wild eyes
And feel these words come more easily.

I want to go back to a place in time
When writing came before working
And I didn’t care so much about money
Or that stupid fear of the future.

I want to break free from this post-youth winter
That has frozen my spirit.

I really want to do it
But the frost grows thicker
And as the days continue to drift by passively
As I stare into the vacant eyes of strangers
And that silent sadness begins to take over
I realise that something must be done.

I realise that something drastic,
Must be done.

poetry · thoughts

~ Travelling at Thirty-Three ~

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~ Travelling at Thirty-Three ~

Staring up at the sky and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness
Searching for those satellites in between the stars
While standing on a rooftop in Las Palmas
Wondering how I ended up here, again,
My days of drifting not quite over
But knowing I am definitely older now
And yes, I miss the youthful me
That renegade rascal who reveled in life’s bright lights.

Somehow it doesn’t quite hit the same anymore
I mean, those starry skies still look the same
The ocean shoreline still looks the same
And the sangria still tastes delicious
But the sense of soul-searching adventure
While coming of age on life’s rollercoaster
Is different.

Somehow I am adjusted to it all
The sights, the sounds, the conversations
And the things that once caused butterflies to flutter in my stomach
Well, they now feel like crickets chirping in my brain.

There is a still quietness on this side of town.

And as my eyes finally adjust to the darkness
And I look at the satellites instead of the stars
I wonder if I will ever behold the blazing light
Of youth and adventure again.