Monday, 18 February 2008

Paint Poems


You don’t realize
How hard I try
Not to break down and cry
Cos it’s harder to exist in a carefree balloon
Floating, flying.

There’s more space for me
None for you
I’ll close up
I don’t need you
I used to be able to read you
Not now
Not ever
I try

I'd rather not tell you what this is about
Rather not contort that mind around what I'm about
Waste into the blues
Carrying me away from you
I'll tell myself things you told me.
I'll repeat the loud incisions into my mind, cold pistols, strong needles.
I'd rather not take the medicines to cure.
Is there a pain sharper than rejection?


If you forget to forget me
Remember the funeral songs and the headphones and the last words
Cos those I remembered to forget.


When you think you’ve lost it
You just need a new canvas
Maybe a mouse
Maybe scroll colours
Maybe bartenders in the background
Maybe the midnight hour
Maybe the silent chirping of Jonathan the Seagull
Or Hemingway’s old man
Or sightless parasites
On Gtalk.

Anything to make your mind work this way again.
To remind yourself that it does.


More space
No more poetry
Flowing out of my balloon
No more theories on human relations
No more insights on muddled minds
No more sloping letters on shopping
Or rejection
Or hatred
Or heartbreak
No more screaming
Cos the slate is unwritten
Natalie’s asleep
Dark dreaming
Naked friend, killing passions
Leaving you to unjungle the mess.


  1. You're probably the only one who understood who "Natalie" is...