Poetry

The fuck

Matt3 Comments

These are no thoughts
I can put a pencil to
I’m not sure I’m even thinking anymore
I’m just feeling things
Bad things
I thought I was thinking
For a moment
Only to find my mind was blank of words
And that my only thought was
“Where have all my thoughts gone”

I can’t describe to you
Why I feel the way I do
Because I have no thoughts
Attached to them anymore
I’m just walking around in a daze
Restless, but I don’t know why
Each moment I remember in a haze
Going outside at the crack of dawn
And back out every moment
And why? Fuck knows why
I feel like I want to cry
But I don’t even have tears
Guess even my rivers can run dry

I have nothing to say
It isn’t this and it isn’t that
Don’t you get it?

I can’t read anymore
Because the words just….
What? I can’t even remember that thought

Bereavement counselling?
No.
Loss is the last of my worries
Or is it
Fuck I don’t even know

I sit and you think I’m okay
He’s trying right
Cuz he’s sitting with us now
That’s what they think
That’s what I want them to think
But I’m not sure

Fuck it. Fuck what?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.fuck.
Fuck.

I think fuck might just be my only thought
Just a row of fucks
Though I’m not sure what fucks they are
If they’re given or received
If it’s that chilled ‘fuck it, man”
Or that agitated ‘FUCK’ screaming

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck

I drowning without flailing
Or maybe I am
But you can’t tell
No one can tell
No. I’m all alone in my own hell

And you all talk
Outside of me
And I just nod and speak words back
Like “yea” “no”
All the necessities
Of polite
But I’m not really sure I’m here
Or there
Or… Anywhere.

Oh fuck.
What will it take to make you realise
To the extent at which I have drowned.

Fuck. Fucking fuck, fuckity fuck
Jesus.

Hello?
You know what
I want to reach out
But I don’t
Cuz there is nothing
Anyone can say
Doesn’t matter who you are

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

Shit. What the fuck
I’m so confused

I’m all alone
No one can reach me
I can’t even reach myself

It’s 1 am. I think I might just go
And sit back out.

Love is what we choose

MattLeave a comment 
You don’t need to sit down 
 To put on ya slip on shoes
 Hurry up
 We got a lotta dancing to do
 Shmoozing round these streets
 Romancing our dues
 The star lit canvas, is certainly our muse
 We don’t need to sing the heart break blues
 If love is what we choose 
 
 © 2016 May

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On the cusp

MattLeave a comment 
Shielding my eyes from the sun 
 I see you in that summer dress
 Who’d have thunk it 
 The blue eyed girl whose heart I won
 and the brown eyed boy 
 I’m always torn 
 On the brink of sex and ruin 
 Always just on the cusp from love

© 2016 May

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Waiting room.

MattLeave a comment 
I’m not the best of men
 There is no hero 
 Behind my eye sockets
 Unblinking to the aftermath
 Of human anguish 
 Ready to take on the world 
 Even if it hurts
 
 No. 
 My body is just a derelict waiting room
 where a boy awaits
 Dressed in postman pat pj’s 
 

© 2016 April

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Fossil lumberjack

Matt3 Comments 
I want to go excavating
 For dinosaur bones
 Got my checkered shirt
 Camera too
 Though I might need to get some
 Better outdoor shoes

They call me the fossil lumberjack
 Always was the nerd
 With dinosaur biscuits in his backpack
 Playing dinosaur trumps
 Till we lost or won
 Or maybe that was
 Just yesterday

Don’t mistake me
 For a hipster
 Though I’m
 Still a kid at heart
 The cigarettes between my fingers
 The only sign of adulthood 

© 2016 April

 

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Perfume

MattLeave a comment 
Traces of your perfume
 Linger caressing the air
 Like your fingers
 Subtle approach 
 Coy under veils 
 Lest we be caught 
 
 I sink into your aroma
 The ghost of your
 Voluptuous breasts 
 Dancing, quivering 
 Embraced between your thighs
 Enthralled by the movement 
 Of hips 
 
 Biting landmarks 
 On each other skin 
 I think I’ll just sit
 And let those memories
 Sink in

©2016 April

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Liquid cruelty

MattLeave a comment

With this liquid cruelty
Bring on the bourbon whiskey
And lonely girl bartenders
Living lives of dissatisfaction

Who will take off their dresses
While they’re dancing on the sheets
In hotel room one hundred and twenty three
Where cheap nights
Lace with cheap curtains

I’ll promise
it’s all discreet
And my fingers like pencils
Will draw upon her cheeks
The red blush of sex
She’s been waiting for, for weeks

I’ll inhale the smell
Of her perfume
Devour her beauty
When she does the walk of shame
I’ll beat the heart of pain

Knowing I’ve dirtied
another one
And I’ll spin into nothingness
At 3 am
Trying to chase back
My drunken ass
Before I feel lame again

(c) 2016 March

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