ich hatte genug.

 

there are days like these

grey like ashtray.

no words to explain the complete

dullness of my brain

except the weather pallette these walls keep out.

physically bound and mentally pasted in a world that knows

no other

one that forgets inner warmth 

and bare feet on hot earth.

these placid walls, they echo of me.

i built these walls without a thought,

merely memories that i try to bury into the

cement that holds uneven brickwork.

i was never good at construction

in my years of self destruction.

when i was 16, my heart skipped a beat

and my pulse fell out of time

i guess my life stuttered, shuttered, sputtered

like ket.amine. like clogged fuel tanks.

there are no reasons for feeling like this

so the medical forms remain blank.

the system tires me with its lack of love.

how can we live in harmony

in a discordant system that needs your

full name, date of birth, permanent address

to say you exist - maybe, not even;

all these things they need to know

but no one really knows

who you really are and how you like your cup of tea.

——

people jump in front of trains these days

and the world still turns around the Jubilee and Circle lines.

people who can afford do not give change to homeless old ladies;

people hid behind masks 

long before this sickness, already sick.

i travel miles and learn nothing from these

suits and sullen faces

these police bills and letters of eviction

i learn nothing from the ungiving that reign our every breath.

these days

the air tastes like metal.

i get drunk sometimes

to numb this knowledge.

it doesn’t help.

we dance but nobody dances with us

anymore

the beat echoes into the night

as tired as i am.

every cigarette i smoke begins to bore me

and i cannot find any meaning in what i do sometimes

and hope that i can find meaning in the things i do

for others.

people are scared of a virus

smaller than the virus we already are

we forget purpose;

it is a curse, the new age order.

——

the dog sits on my pain

wanting it to stop.

my fused wires are sparking

the cats sit on those like sponges

trying to put them out.

they try to tell me it is that easy to heal

maybe i just don’t let life be that simple

and remember that i was born with two legs not four,

unfortunately.

this poem is filled with lines i write

without direction

but i just have nothing to send on its way.

——

i break promises with every

line every swig

every prohibited high.

i am always on a prohibited high.

if i’d done things better

it wouldn’t need to be self-prohibited

but instead against my firm decisions.

sometimes it is funny to be alive like this

but it isn’t far from being dead

i always had a dark sense of humour.

the indifference does not scare me

but sometimes i end up the only one laughing.

sometimes i hate having lived past suicide.

the second chance was neccessary

but it can be a burden too heavy

to wear on my skin

and my eyes are tired from watching the world

with these undead eyes.

i wouldn’t trade my world for any else,

but sometimes it feels

like i breathe less air

less life

i lead less purpose.

people care about things that give them substance

where i get none.

i am addicted to how shit i feel

i always have been,

listening to joy division and la dispute

for sheer shits and giggles

my heartbeat is all over the place and i think i have

to live with this

a sidedish of a carwreck hit of cocaine just because.

i get angry with what i choose

and i am living in sin

purely because i decide to.

i am angrier than i love

denying how much love i can feel if 

i let it in.

it only makes sense

that i have always made mistakes

selfish pain,

fucking typical.

i try to write like i once did

kidding myself that i can live in the present

on the script of a rewrite.

the darkness is different now

it is no longer bottomless and more peripheral.

it is in the lingering hangovers and

things i have not done

it lives in the moments i do not love

the darkness is no longer

all-encompassing but within

i feed it without resistance, and 

this scares me.

it is in the nights i lie awake 

listening to the washing machine giving up

screaming in my head so loud 

the cats hear it.

i drink more

wanting this to stop

i have problems i do not face

everyone around me seems okay

so i accept that i have nothing to change.

hitler pandemics

masked realities.

everyone around me seems okay with this

but i am not.

holocaust stupidity

news of afghanistan like ten years ago on repeat

everyone says it is terrible

sitting before their televisions

saying there will be a revolution

that will never happen

because sitting before televisions

will never start riots that gives

the new police bill a run for.

apparently my friend died from this virus

but his death statistic is the real virus

i do not believe his death is justified

and his life will not be remembered,

only his death stamped and sealed and sent off to the government

as another tragic pandemic victim.

fucking cunts.

the world that has given in to this manipulation

will never recover from this virus

nor ever be immune

the world now spins on a web of oppresion

that will only grow further

than the punks have stopped it.

you will be wrong for not believing

you will be wrong for having your own mind

you will be wrong.

we are wrong now, for this world.

the world was for us now the world is for them

and we do not fit anymore in its pockets.

pockets of love, with gaping holes.

i guess we have to learn to teach love

on a needle and thread

badges and patches

music and mushrooms.

i believe my submission to love

is the biggest dominance.

——

my poems were never high

they were sober, drunk, never high

low as the deepest parts of the ocean

maybe pain does disappear

maybe it doesn’t

i haven’t quite figured that out yet.

i learnt to smile when i hurt the most and now i hurt less

but i rarely smile

and it all seems random

pain is random, i suppose

but so very, very there.

sometimes i think i have cured myself

and this is all an act

but acts do not leave you sweating in bed

and screaming inside when all is quiet.