his

"you are my sweetest downfall",
"you're my favorite mistake",
what a pity that, like these words,
you aren't mine to take.

x

about heroes

How come all the right lines
come all at the wrong time?
The words stream down my face now,
making the perfect sense that I intended from the start.

And now it’s their turn;
Faces, staring back at me from all directions,
asking me why I can’t make them better.
And they scream.

And they yell and they tell me
that I’m as fucking bad as them.
And I am
and I am
and I’m worse.
And each hearse belongs to my sad selfish body,

because I could never
save anyone but me.

That is not a hero.

That is not a person.

I am undeserving of myself,
of even these clichéd, self-centered words.

I have always been sorry.

But that is, I am, never even close to enough.

on the Northern Line

She would've let me..

and so here I sit on the Northern Line,
surrounded by people,
but smiling anyway
as I think of her
and wonder if she knows...

that knowing that I could've

is almost as beautiful
as if I had.

chapstick

I cling to the fading scent,
& get the sense of an atmosphere
similar to that of
trying determinedly to chew the last pockets of flavor from
a piece of greyed gum,
 
and, again, the world has mirrored the external to the in,
creating a perfect metaphor for itself.

Is it really time that this was spit out?
And if it is, who is at fault for this atrocity,
this robbery of the beauty
and peace
and light
and direction, which I remember now,
which cuts through the tiredness & desperation it has
become
to give me a glimmer of a reminder,
of a hope, and bewliderment...
 
like the eroding of the gum’s commercial, bright beginning,
leaving only the industrial grey
of the lesser mentioned ingredients…
 
is that really what we are built on?
or have we just been chewed to death?

Golightly

There's no doubt that you're Holly,
that defining fear & charm.

And he's your Jose, honey;
ratless, high.

So left to cast is me, well,
what'll it be? Kinda funny
how I still don't know-
Doc, Fred, Paul,
who am I?

rest in peace, Tony Dangerfield

Oh God, the past tense is so ugly;
and all it leaves the present is its lessons.

technicolor

The face of the girl I'm in love with
looks over the fold in a newspaper at me
in my pyjamas
as I mournfully ponder my inadequacies,
things I could never be
and would have to be
for her to love me back.

Surreal.

..but strangely fitting,
now that I think about it;
I'm looking at her now the way I always do-
as one would when admiring a work of art,
behind the importance of a rope,

just too far away.

The girl I'm in love with,
my first love.

Her flawless features high shine through the dull print
and enhance the color quality of my life
in that same unique way her presence can,
from far above;

technicolor from this black and white.