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1. |
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"I'm pursuing a career outside of conveyancing"
I fumble at the keys of these words' plain hilarity
I dream of hinting at genuine animosity,
To savagely tear you apart just with honesty
How do I tell you exactly what I think?
"I'm pursuing a career outside of conveyancing"?!
Cowardly hiding behind literally anything,
I'll forgo bravery in lieu of good references.
Sending via email's the extent of my rage
and it's visible from my desk as it appears on your screen and it's passive aggressive and beautifully written,
Pathetically vague with apologies littered.
And I'll see your reaction as you open the letter,
As close as a breath on a hot tingling ear in a room raining pins.
How long will we sit aboard this gargantuan elephant, trapped on the third floor?
Probably a few seconds is all, we seldom speak at all.
Send me an emailed response - that's all that anyone wants.
I'm overthinking this. Worrying what time would be best.
Sweating at 4.56, muttering under my breath
"I'm pursuing a career outside of conveyancing" ...
I'm losing my mind on the outside of everything
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2. |
Carousel
03:46
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They've carved a man out of you,
Invisibly destitute
As run of the mill
As words are on postcards
You make lethargic rebukes,
Until they just forget you
And you sign with a signature
devoid of all characters
No one feeds the horse on a carousel
Why did you assume you could be yourself?
No one's gonna give you what you think you want,
Why did you assume you'd be any different at all?
I didn't want this for you.
No one throws a bone for the invisible dog
No one leaves their throne and lets you keep it warm
Money is the only thing that drives a horse
Wealthiness is finite with an admin job
I quit to try out happiness
happiness sounds nice.
nice is an adjective
people use all the time.
Time is everything
and everything's better
Better than leaving it 20 years to wake up
Old and dizzy from clinging to a carousel
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3. |
The Sad King
02:33
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I feel juxtaposed with myself and someone I don't really know;
A vagrant wanders rogue in the basement of my home.
Above this unbeknown, sits the Sad King on his old throne.
Air thins as I float- a single glint in a thick mist of mosquito.
And as I grow, I feel nothing.
The window you all look through is opaque,
You only see the skin and smiles of a face.
In every eyes blink I feel the weight
Of a thousand blank stares into empty space
Where a rowed boat sits on a lake
Like a sheet of set snow sits under one flake
As I grow, I feel nothing.
Your pointing fingers are housed in glass gloves
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4. |
Blackboards
02:36
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I think of something else in lieu
Of finding cracks inside the truth
I defer but disappoint.
How does it feel to be trapped in a casket.?
In this place the blackboards shiver when scratched,
No one hears the words of your indistinct rasp.
Your diaphragm flutters for breath,
Just as your eyelids tremble then clench.
And I'm hoping I don't trace your steps
Because your corpse will soon dissolve,
They'll find my body fits that mould
And I just won't know how to tell them:
I'm alright in my mass tomb.
I'm alright.
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5. |
Die Here
02:43
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I'm not gonna lie here and say that I fell;
I don't want to die here but I may as well.
Wall space assumes portraits, we hang templates of gain:
Certificates that wither then rot in their frames.
I don't want to drown.
But I don't want your ropes to keep me afloat, drop them.
I'll bite until these cavities are just gum.
If I fall asleep here I'll wake up a shell;
A whisper of a man; a light gust in a well.
When the bind at my wrists cuts the bone past sinew,
I'll ask why I'm in bits at my yearly review.
And I'll adopt a catchphrase; a novelty; a trait
By which they'll define me & assign me a place
On my desk sits the portraits of those I will spawn
They smile happy but lacking and I hate them all
But I don't let them know that
I let their ropes tighten till they won't loosen
I'd bite but I've only got gums.
We both dig the same grave but you'll die here.
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6. |
The Culpable Glutton
03:04
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Sometimes I wish I'd never met you
So I couldn't hurt you; so I wouldn't miss you
I can be alone until I'm all out of songs
And then the things I miss the most
Lie heavy in my arms
And I'm mostly the same,
Just different in some ways
Crucially vague
As the honesty haunts me
I'm mostly the same,
Sadder on some days,
But mostly the days
Are forgotten when I wake.
You'll forget me in time.
Car horns quarrel in the background
As he spots himself alone;
His profile fills the puddle
His knees wet on the road.
His reflection shows a darkness
stooped behind baby blues;
Each blink a puncture to a wheel of bruise
And he maintains that gaze
The length of his lunch break
The cogs in his brain
Slow down to a dull ache
The calls of his name;
Cacophony with the traffic
And he'll scratch his head
As he wakes in the morning
I'll forget this in time.
My eyelids rustle until the tweet of birds,
Each aching muscle tell tales of shame, which weep like birth.
To grieve is greed, I'm the culpable glutton:
I'm sorry; I miss you; I fucked up; I'm nothing.
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