A Moment's Brief Temptation

​She’s far away in a bed we often share
Resting under a duvet sewn together with her burdens,
Weary eyed and wearied mind,
A hundred stresses squeezed inside
A loose elastic band
Ready to snap when I return.
 
I’ll soak up her horrors 
And I’ll do nothing about them but absorb,
So intense, so aggressive, so unlike you
But I’ll shelter in her hostility
Because that’s what I do.
 
She’ll aim words and catch me
In her fist and squeeze fingernails to palm
Until all her burdens are bound
In my hidden sobs.
 
But it’s real.
 
I take her pain
And I help her feel.
 
And then there’s you.
 
A quick dream,
A beautiful lie,
Offering yourself
Though I don’t know why,
A smile that doesn’t kill me
And words that make me feel good
About who I am or try to be
Just like love should.
You’re everyone’s fantasy
And I could have you
Over her
And we’d make our Eden
And we’d never be banished
And it would be perfect.
 
But untrue.
 
See, I would rather have the misery
And take the pain as I do,
Not because it’s not a fairy tale,
But because it’s more real than just you.

Say Okay to the World

​I’ll be okay.
 
That’s what you want me to say,
Isn’t it?
 
No more talking can be done
No more change is going to come
So it’s okay
I’m fine
I’m okay.
 
Aren’t I?
 
There’s nothing you can do
There’s nothing I can do
So I have to be okay
I have to be.
 
Surely?
 
Is that would I should say?
 
But what if I open up with honesty
And say things really bother me
That it burns and rages
At the imprisonment of my skin
With an anger I can’t justify
And a despair I can’t console
But it’s old
I felt this way five months ago
So it’s time for me to be better
So if you ask me I can’t just go and say
There’s no way
I can bear another five
Of this alive.
I thought my thoughts belonged to me
But they keep fighting with each other
And ridiculing my every move
With so many voices
Until I want a pit
To scream into
And keep screaming
Until my lungs combust and burst out into ash
And my throat is like a game of Kerplunk with razors
And the whole fucking world
Can hear this incessant agony.
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
But no.
It’s cool, I’m back from the fall.
 
I’ll be okay.
 
That’s what I’m meant to say, after all.
 

I Choose

​I know I’ve been unkind
And I know I seem resigned
To the misery I find
In this torturous incarceration of thoughts I can’t get off my chest
And it may seem like I chose death.
 
And I did choose death.
 
For a while, I did.
And that was okay.
 
I seeked out the end of sorrow
I didn’t want tomorrow, want to deal,
I neglected anything that was real,
Because I dreaded that I might feel.
 
And that was okay.
 
And that is why I now no longer choose death.
 
Because I am going to allow myself to feel it.
 
To feel every bit of it.
To drown myself in torture and realise
That is what life is; it’s getting stuck
In the downs and the ups,
You win and you lose
And I choose…
 
I choose life.
 
I choose a house with the picket fence and the neighbours
I say hello to after picking up the kids from school
And saying things that show that I’m not cool
As I ask them about their homework
And smile at my wife
And share her Monday morning misery
And Sunday night television.
 
I choose the heartbreak when it all backfires
And she chooses anything but me
And my world shatters down
Because it doesn’t shatter
It just shakes
And I look up and find myself in rubble;
And, yes, you can never rebuild a building exactly as it was–
But you can rebuild something.
 
I choose to rebuild.
 
I choose Christmasses.
With my family.
Watching as the toy I bought a niece or nephew
That will be next year’s charity shop throwout
Brings delight that makes the extortionate cost
Of annual consumerism
Seem like it’s all just part of the magic.
 
I choose sad movies.
I choose to watch them with you
As we hold hands and I don’t pretend not to cry
Because you, and only you, are willing to tell me
That it’s okay
For a man to show he hurts when he sees pain
That brings it all back.
 
I choose funerals.
I choose to stand as I watch the curtain billow
In front of the coffin amidst cremation
And hear nothing but a song and some tears
But know that it’s okay
As that person existed
Which was a miracle
And damn me to hell if I can’t appreciate
A good miracle.
 
I choose my dog.
The deep yet fleeting pleasure as she needs me
And she wants to play with me
And though my arm is tired from throwing your toy duck
And I just want to watch television
I will throw it anyway
As there is nothing that can compare
To the sight
Of you bursting back toward me
With the duck battling the aerodynamic speed of wind
As you hold it in your mouth
And place it back on my lap.
 
I choose forgiveness.
For bad words and bad acts
For hurting me by shouting the facts
For cheating and abusing
Your taking and removing
And I forgive you
Not because you deserve forgiveness
But because I deserve to be free
Of all the anger
That exposes me every day.
 
And, most of all;
Most of all;
I choose me.
I choose to prioritise my health over your insults.
I choose to be creative and not care whether I achieve greatness.
I choose to make mistakes.
I choose to make lots of them.
I choose to love, freely and openly,
Like I did back when I was a teenager
And I loved for the first time
In a way that was wild
And untainted.
 
Yes, I think I’ll choose to love.
Even though it could kill me.
 
And then I’ll choose it again.
 
And again.
 
And again.
 
Because, when you take away the noise and the silence,
The fights and the defiance,
The religion and the science,
That is all you have left.
 
I think that will do me for now.
 
I think I’m quite done.
 
I choose love, pain, and freedom and scars.
 
Because, in the end,
It’s all actually quite fun.

Pointless Death

​I don’t think I can get
Any lower than this.
 
It seems like writing you these words
In meaningless syntax
As if there’s a point to a metaphor
Is the thing
The only thing
Between me and the noose
Or setting this raging fire
To this house.
 
These aren’t words for critical acclaim
Or rhyme or deeper meaning
Some teacher would attach
If these words had enough craft
To be taught.
 
They are a vacant expression
Of complicated composition that
Truly, truly means
Little but diatribe
About a misery
Not at all unique
To every stanza already written.
 
I write these words
Because they are harder
Than a blade
But leave less scars.
 
Oh, look, another verse
And a new line
Enjambment to symbolise the ongoing nature of pain
It’s the same
And I blame
Everyone else until I blame myself
Then blame no one.
 
Nothing is ever at fault.
People just are.
 
Walking around life doesn’t get you far
But I’d sooner end it all
Right now than just
Keep rambling to a page
Who will never hold me back
And will be destroyed by water
Which means
It cannot even survive my cry.
 
But I can die.
 
Oh, I can die
And go down in glory I’ll never get
So my obituary can be
The wrapping for
Tomorrow’s fish and chips.
 
See, I have a purpose after all.
 
Give me a reason to save
Suicide for next week
Because it’s looking bleak
There’s nothing else on my todo list to do.
 
So goodbye I say with words
That mean even less
Than the life it took to type them
And even less
Than each syllable I just
Wasted my time
Writing.
 

Those Perfect Flaws

​I want to be your stretch marks.
 
I want to be that mole by your mouth that you had surgically removed.
 
I want to be those perfect flaws you hate
Yet those things you hate are the thing
I love.
 
I’m sorry this couldn’t work.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be that wrinkle on your forehead,
That premature sign of ageing,
That thing you see but no one else can.
 
I want to be that hit song that was stuck in your head
So you deleted it off your iPhone with
The words going round and round
And round
And round.
 
I want to be your closed fist.
I want to latch onto your soul that does not exist
In your belief as you’re an atheist,
I want to be that god you vilify
But don’t hate
Just know does not exist.
 
I want that blemish, be that scar,
Be the drugs in your chemist you used to depart
Your mind from its illness.
 
I want to be those stretch marks.
 
I want to be that illness
And be that cure
 
But I don’t think that’s what you want.
 
At least not anymore.I want to be your stretch marks.
 
I want to be that mole by your mouth that you had surgically removed.
 
I want to be those perfect flaws you hate
Yet those things you hate are the thing
I love.
 
I’m sorry this couldn’t work.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be that wrinkle on your forehead,
That premature sign of ageing,
That thing you see but no one else can.
 
I want to be that hit song that was stuck in your head
So you deleted it off your iPhone with
The words going round and round
And round
And round.
 
I want to be your closed fist.
I want to latch onto your soul that does not exist
In your belief as you’re an atheist,
I want to be that god you vilify
But don’t hate
Just know does not exist.
 
I want that blemish, be that scar,
Be the drugs in your chemist you used to depart
Your mind from its illness.
 
I want to be those stretch marks.
 
I want to be that illness
And be that cure
 
But I don’t think that’s what you want.
 
At least not anymore.

Endless Talking

​I can still smell you on my hoody.
A scent that once made me miss you
Is a stench
That becomes a welcome pain.
 
I can still sense you behind me,
The pain in my back,
And I fumble in the darkness
For your arm
To pull it over or brush it off
But the kiss on my neck doesn’t come
And I roll
Into the empty space
Where you
Used to reside.
 
The trial I put you on
Produced a split jury
And a judge
Too eager to condemn.
 
Maybe you should have stayed.
Maybe I should have left.
 
Or maybe we should have stopped the words.
 
They mean nothing, after all.

Are You Enjoying Life?

​Are you enjoying life?
Sitting there
Caring what every
Single damn person
Thinks of you.
 
Is it what you imagined?
To be so concerned
By the glances of strangers
That you can’t think clearly
With others
Or alone.
 
Is that how you wanted it?
To be so infatuated with misery
To the point that you reject
What’s good for you
What’s right for you
Because you’re too fucking insecure
To let it be
Okay.
To just let things
Be
Okay.
 
Can they ever be okay?
 
Not when your self-image
Falters so much that
Your self-disgust
Is the only barrier
Between someone who finds you
So attractive
And you believing them.
 
It can happen
At any moment
But never a moment
If you bury your head
Deep
Deep
Deep
Into the abyss
Of your self-hatred
Self-abuse
And self-substance.
 
I have scars too.
 
They mark my arm
Beneath my tattoo.
 
And I hate that they are there
But they are there
And will be there whatever
So okay
They are there
And I like it
Not really
But that’s how I live with it.
 
And you just sit there
Hating yourself so much
That you can’t even function.
 
And your hatred is such
That the strength of it
Will never let you
Be healthy
With yourself
Or with others.
 
It’s a decision.
The simplest and the hardest
At the same time
But a decision nonetheless.
 
So tell me.
 
Who really suffers?
 
Those that you push
To the corners of your life?
 
Or the one who you hate
To have forever
In its centre?