whenitrains

Broken Tide

by

There once was a wish, a yearning, a feeling of certainty of need

That, now, seems quaint, naive

And perhaps it was

Perhaps it was just me seeing through crystal, assuming a romantic invitation and being

perhaps it was a copper bracelet held dear with no reason

perhaps it was the smooth feeling of an old wooden box with broken veneer

And as I look back now at

rows of bottles with my slight sad reflection

smashed on the floor into 10,000 pieces of little anger and grief

It seems strange and farway

like I was in some far-flung country with different gradient skies

and a language I don’t know that fades into the background like an exotic hot-sky whipser

And yet in the back of all this

the tick-tick-tick-tock of an ever-speeding-up clock

a gentle reminder of time past, time now and time future, counting down not up

And I see in my mind

rows of records

tapes

posters on wall

hope

love

and the grandiose plans of my youth

And when I revisit them

sometimes in vivid rich neon full-immersion memories

sometimes in dull, no-movement, no-body around heaviness

I think

of all the inbetweens

and what happened to them

as I know

some are just dust ground into the road, trampled down into nothing but tiny particles

some dissolved into the water of my life’s journey

some blown out with candles of years past – into smoke then air then nothing

and yet

and yet

yet

still some burn brightly, fused with the fight and energy I once held true and still do.

At The Back Of ur Mind

by

I think the phrase is “whirling dirt-rish feverishly infecting every cell of my brain and my mind and my being.

Round and round, ever cyclical. Faster and faster, sometimes slower and slower but always there

When I can’t see it, I can’t view it in any kind of way. I can’t speak to it but I know it exists

I can’t speak to it but it speaks to me. It speaks to me in rhythms and ghostly memories of long-forgotten places and times and beings

It speaks to me in great nuance of ancestors and family that make believe of childhood memory

But this communication is one way only

I kind of implore it to stop, to improve, to paint good pictures in bright pastel colors, yellow

I’m merely a body for it to pass on memories, times, places, and dates I no longer recall

And I am just a body for it to infect with its negativity, its reminders of mistakes past, present, and future

It’s not a ghost or shard or remnant. It is ever-present. It is always and will be always

I don’t own it yet it is mine and I am its

It’s neither welcome nor unwelcome but within the shell of me and my body and my being and my mind it is ever present

Tomorrow Knows When

by

When every single speck of light has been extinguished

The last diamond, untangling itself in the sky against black, has diminished to nothing

And all that’s left is the sound of a lowly wave. Black ocean wave on stone on rock

And just the sensation of my pulse running through my body

Tiny, a tiny remnant of thoughts and memories of goals and ambitions

All reduced to just particles, to just memories, to sound waves, to parts of the universe we no longer see

And yet still at night I hear the passing of ships

I hear overhead, above grey clouds, the clattering of jets

I wondered to myself

Was I mistaken all along?

Slant

by

There is some kind of innate, unshakeable urge to catastrophize, to belittle myself

and to firmly put reason to one side, discarded and to be forgotten

Like some how, pulling this dark sheet over my head, blocking out light and sanity

will benefit me, will cure me and provide solace

It’s strange that my mind, even if deep slumber, dreaming of azure skies and malachite fields

will dispute all that is good, all that is love

It will pick up them up roughly, the good, the angelic

and carelessly toss them into a sack

and throw them

I wonder sometimes if it could do the reverse

if it would say to me, I shall highlight and hold dear all that is good, that is light and pure

if it would hold them up to the sun and point out the divine beauty that is all around me

But I fear it will just submerge all that, free of nuance and peace and happiness.

Glow[d]

by

In a darkly poetic way, in a corner I once believed

That all was true was bright, gold, pure

And oddly the comfort that gave me

Gave way into flights of fancy

Ridiculed origin of a flurry of thoughts

Thoughts of spirals

depth

ever climbing higher higher.

Closed Box

by

I had a feeling [have]

That my feelings, thoughts

are expendible

cheap

a low value, grey commodity

I have a feeling [had]

That I encompass uncommon decay and restlesness

and all-seeing codes for spiralling down

into nothing

I had a thought [have]

that all may not be well

that the blue sky outside

is just a facade

I have a thought [had]

that when the wind does blow

there may be a tear[s]

shed.

Button -1

by

A choice is just a moment, a reflection splashing from

crystalline water with the upmost precision and dynamics

From a current unseen yet powerful, deadly, destructive

with the confidence of the ice surface breaking, snapping

luring out from underneath languorous ill feeling and resentment

And now it’s a dive upwards, fear and mocking and self-hate in one arrow, spear

headed fast towards the air, horizon, future

And angry though it is, it flies and soars with grace, with the arrogance of broken introspection

It’s a launch that can’t be undone

A decision that does not allow rethinking to be fostered

Because no matter all the doubt and will in the world

this moment has been made

it has been festering and growing with ever more detemination

since my heart gave it first beat.

Ascent II

by

Within a gradual greyscale decline

an actual continuation of

of what?

certainty?

an abstract definition of loss?

And maybe

I’m alone at sunrise

peeking at a horizon that simple isn’t mine to have

looking up at a sky I can’t own

knowing I will keep striving and

lusting for the happiness

Now fast forward and my

soul feels like a forgotten effigy

declining thoughts in an echo chamber

of decay and darkness

And the soundtrack is a symphony of my melancholic self obsessed egotistical depression

its a chequered flag of the last lap

last opportunity

before out, out, out.

Seroxat [An Anti-Love Story]

by

There’s a certain crushing realisation that at 5am you’ve not slept all night and you are now

nocturnal

Because now as well as being an outside you are outside of the

rhythms and grace and mysteries and magnificence

that life supposedly brings

But there is no grace here, no shining diamond

just a dull, null fall from grace

a pointless watching of the sky

looking for an effigy of all that was

and wondering, why, why does this feel numb

why is all I have to sleep

or to stay awake tormented by the lulls and flows of others

You said stop

you said it will be OK

all will be OK

you’ll be fine

And yet I remember with the clarity of a failing summer

sinking into bed with the conviction I only wanted death

falling deeper into black storm cloud

wanted to end

just end

Realising with painful irony this was not safe

that spams, jolts, the wish to die

isn’t a solution or a destination

just a failed cursed journey

a ship pushed out to sea based on guesswork

turning away, another problem out of mind for now

It’s a shame.

The Gamification Of Loss [Lost]

by

There’s a curse that, although unwritten

Holds me accountable and over tight and over bearing

Claims victory of any defeat or

downward motion

Shouts with joy in the face of

decline

spiralling

Roars with smug pride at

bad ebbs

poor flows

Laughs with tears of arrogance at

my despair

my hatred

my self-loathing

It’s unwritten yet we speak of it frequently

enemy vs enemy

foe vs foe

back and forth in this

cyclical hell I have created

The eternal question, cycling round

is this it? forever?

How I was blessed with the over-arching self-awareness

and deep thinking and pondering

yet this amplifies the pain x 10

amplifies the doubt

the self-loathing

Chalking it up to experience

time and time again

over and over

hands circling a clock, the inevitable reset midnight brings

a page into page into chapter

but the book never ends.