Archive for June 7, 2008

Drinking Bleach Won’t Make People Love You

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on June 7, 2008 by dc

Please don’t fall off buildings,
The night has just begun.
Yes, the world is wasted,
Your dog is close to death
And pointing is quite pricey,
But pick yourself back up,
Your cup is filled to spilling,
Living is the drilling before shelves,
Your bell-end isn’t broken,
It’s just sore.
Take my hand,
I know it looks gay,
But it’ll keep you steady
And then I can
Put you under the stairs,
I’ll put the hoover on its side
And you can use the bag as a pillow,
I know things might look
A bit bleak,
But trust me,
Drinking bleach
Won’t make people love you,
It’ll just make them annoyed.
Please don’t sleep on the patio,
The night isn’t quite over yet.
Yes, the buffet was amazing,
My nibbles were great
And posh crisps are quite brittle,
But things can be remedied,
The aspirin bottle is still full,
Housing prices will stabilise
And you haven’t got bowel cancer,
You’ve just got the shits.

The Dead Are Not Buried

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on June 7, 2008 by dc

It’s easy to feel paranoid
When you decide you’re at ease
With anxiety and fear,
When the people you love
Grow tired of your circles
And scratch pictures in the soil,
Faces with their eyes closed,
Messages of tired neglect,
Memories overtaken by dreams.
It’s easy to think the world is a haven
From bad people’s nightmares
And subtle destruction,
Just stare into the sky,
Lose your eyes in the light
And dance through the sun spots,
Most were born to just natter
And look gently at things,
The dead are not buried.
It’s easy to stumble around late at night,
The ground is uneven
When the dark explores brooding,
TV repeats itself like bad food,
Doubts whisper lonely
And the old floorboards moan,
Heartache is the best excuse
To rot like broken soldiers,
If only we had faith.

Half Fallen Leaves

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on June 7, 2008 by dc

In the valley of the broken
Where the lonely like to roam
Beetles scuttle across rivers of teeth,
Beggars usher the elements
And clouds hang in the sky
Like half fallen leaves
On a canopy of nothing.

In the basin of the ruined
Farmers with faces like fists
And milk hags with cream moustaches
Poke the world with glee,
The skies cry mud
And pottery scarecrows too scared to stay
Crack under pressure.

In the crevasse of the bankrupt
Taverns filled with bile and blood
Open their curses to strangers
And rot all the grasses and hedgerows,
Ducks inhale the silence
And the only life left
Is the groan of wasted memories.