A Piece of Me I miss youI feel as though a part of me is missingand it isbecause you carry a piece of me with youeven though both of us wish you didn't.I'll live this way, it won't kill me.But sometimes I would rather die.I hear your name, I see you walking byand I feel my throat close up.I can't breathe.But even this is better.Better than it was.We would pretend, and be civil.But I would say something and I would knowthat you had moved anotherstep away.I would see you everyday, and every time I did I wouldtear on the inside.I would hear your voice, smell your smell.Everything would come back to me and Iwould
A Door Opens Doing what I want to do,it's something else.unrest,shuffle,no attentionfull attention.a door opensin our being,dark eyes,workers hands,a mouth to touch.day dream,form part of youyour experiences.a half dead floweranother live one, freshly bloomed,a sudden flurry of movement.
Amber Light Memories guttering of the candle, the slightest warmth tickling my skin. half shadow half amber light memories.shudder of flowing waternothing sound of my breathingin and out,moving with the windmoving with the earth.round moon thumping with my heartbeat,thumping with my loins. soft metal tinkle of my small splashes,my guiding movements.in line, toes pointing to the seductive moon,heads towards my futuremy pastmy now.The moon growing bigger and smaller,thrusting to my sight.
I Remember the Last Words I remember the last words you ever said to me; to any one.You said it was alright, I didn't need to help youYou would do it yourself.You said this with such kindnessYou called me your boyYou said you would see me the next day.I remember the thoughts I had in my dark room.You said it would be alright, but it wasn'tYou didn't do it yourself.You said nothing in kindness ever againYou called me your boy for the last timeYou never did see me the next day.I remember the phone call.They told me what had happenedThey said you had gone quietly.They spoke to me with fake concernThey called me "Sir"They said I could com
Jill 1 - Strobe Light Death A girl killed herself in the club I was in last night. She was there with a few friends but for some reason no one noticed when she disappeared, but that happens in clubs, I don’t think any one blames them; except maybe themselves. She went into the bathroom and locked herself in, nothing strange about that; people do that all the time.I wonder what she thought when she sat there. On the toilet, her feet in the dirt and wet of all the other people, the dark walls that are so foul they breathe. Two girls fighting over a boy, the bump and thump and thud of the music. A discarded cigarette end next to her on floor. Lusting after the broke
Silence Sitting on a couch with my husband of a year, not talking, not thinking. What lovely blissful silence. So comfortable.“Honey, what’s this?” I look to see what he’s talking about; he’s holding my left hand, looking at my wrist.The comfort is shattered.“They’re scars.”Maybe he won’t ask...“From what?”Fuck.How do I explain to sweet, loving, darling Peter that I used to hate myself? That I used to cut? That I had my favourite pair of jeans, my favourite because I used to carry a piece of broken glass in my pocket. That for my entire adolescence I wanted to die. That
The Page in the Book 1. I bought a book today. A nice leather bound copy of Treasure Island, but it’s nothing very special. I know I’m an adult but that story has such a special place in my heart, I’ve loved it since I was little, my favourite bit is when Jim says that he wakes up with the sound of the waves breaking on the shore echoing in his head and that wild horses would not drive him back. But that is beside the point; this story has nothing to do with treasure, or the sea or even a young man. Not my part of the story anyway. Shall I start from the beginning? I think so.It was a normal boring day, Saturday in the middle of the month, so I don
Jill - The Girl in the Car Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m a jinx.I went out tonight, went to see a sweet movie with my friends, on the way home I drove past an accident, a couple of days later I heard about her.The person in the accident was, is, a girl who goes to the same university as me, and as people tell me about her lying in a coma in a sterile green white hospital I remember what I saw; and that makes me think.What had she been doing? She was out somewhere, was she with friends? Was she at a night class? Was she visiting a lover? She could even have been in the same movie cinema as me, maybe sitting behind me. I can see her turning the music up, an
Stranger on a Bus We see a man and woman sitting next t each other on a bus, they don’t seem to know each other. It is late at night and most people are asleep, there is a mother and screaming baby siting behind them. He is reading a book that has seen better days, a paperback that has been read hundreds of times.WOMAN: What are you reading?MAN: The Portrait of Dorian Grey.WOMAN: I’ve never heard of it.He starts reading. WOMAN: Is it any good?MAN: Well, it is a classic.He carries on reading.WOMAN: What’s it about?The man sighs, puts his bookmark in place and turns to her.MAN: Well, there’s this guy
Clear Pearly Night It's nights like these that I wish we were older, that we didn't have all the stress and uncertainties that embroil our young lives. I wish that I could wait at home for you, that if I was already in bed you would quietly sneak in, not switching the light on, you lift the duvet, trying not to let the cold air touch me and you crawl into bed. You move slightly toward me and put your one arm around me, I may be asleep but I nuzzle towards you and sigh just a tiny bit. Or if you get home earlier, I'll be watching TV, reading my book, and when you arrive I look up and smile at you, we meet half way across the room and kiss hello. We talk about th
Lecture of the Living Dead It is the season for colds and flu, or that’s what Johan Marais must have thought when he woke up on the morning of the 18th of August. Johan, a second year humanities student, was seen in his classes of that morning looking ashen. His classmates said he was very quiet and simply slept through most of his classes.The drama unfolded in his second last class of the day, English 278. Johan was seen sleeping on his desk once again when suddenly he started moaning. “It was very primal,” said Chad Moth who was a couple of rows in front of Johan. Students started to snicker and the lecturer asked for silence several times
Life Lesson from a Hobo The young couple sat talking animatedly, unaware of most of the world around them, her talking with big gestures and a smile in her eyes, him listening and laughing and soaking it in. They are suddenly interrupted by a man, a dirty, marinated homeless man. “I don’t want money.” They look at him, first upset at the intrusion and then sceptically when they hear his words. He looks at her, his murky eyes seem wistful, then he turns to the man next to her. “I just want to tell you that you must look after your girlfriend. She is your gold. They raped and killed my woman, I went to the street, gave up everythin
Faith Tainted by the World A young boy stands on the edge of his father’s bed and shouts “Daddy, catch me!” Before the last sound is out of his mouth he jumps. Not considering that his father’s back is turned or that perhaps his father didn’t hear him. He has a blind faith in his father, that strong arms will catch him inches from the ground and when they do his squeals of ecstasy go flitting through the house.The boy’s mother hears this, sees it through the crack in the door. That evening she’s struck by an impulse, she stands on the edge of the bed. Her husband is standing scratching through a sock draw with his back to her. “
Silent Inspiration A girl sitting at a small, round coffee table by herself. Alone but not lonely. A forgotten book open in her hand, her cup of coffee spelling words in the cold air. Her dark hair pulled back from her face, her face turned to the clouded mountain. Earphones in her ears, the music isolating her, enveloping her in her own little world that’s full of swirls and colours. Her eyes are still and calm. Focusing on something in the distance no one else can see. A moment of pure stillness. She doesn’t notice the frantic pace all around her. She exists in curves and shadows, mist and smoke. No one knows what she’s thinking, who she is or
Melted Sun I watched as you tookyour hand and melted the sunback into the sea.
My Shame Today I met a man, a man full of respect, full of sorrow. Full of shame for what he had to do. “I ask, with respect madam,” even when I am so much younger, “I ask with respect that you look around. Look after those people that matter, your family, your lovers and yourself.” “There are bad people. Bad men who watch you. They want your body and when they are done, because you’re beautiful, I say with respect, when they are done they just leave you. Just leave you lying there.” Gestures made with soft hands but such a lines face. I could smell the wine, but such a character, I could not say no.I watched a goo
Days I want to go back to the good old bad old dayswhere I was in love with my pastand you were my pillar of strength.I thought it was bad, I thought it was scary and I thought it was hopeless.But now I’ve moved on and up and out.And I’m terrified.
Lilly Pad Ever feel that you’re sittingin the middle of a street?Life roaring past?Lights and sounds andpeople.People you know,people you don’t.all moving,and agingand flowing.Ever feel like your little land,your little section of pond,is stagnant?It’s just you and thescum.No flow,no movement.Just you,sitting on adirty Lilly padwaiting to be rescued.People keep screaming at you“You can swim! There’s no current to drag you down! Just swim out to us!”But you don’t listen,you’re happyin your miseryon yourdirtystagnantlilly pad.
I Held Your Hand The most terrifying moment of my lifewas when I had to cleanthe blood off your face.Your dazed face.Drug and pain mixed in a baffling cocktail.I held your hand,I think,I must have.I held your handand cleaned the bloodfrom your face.I watched you close your eyesagainst the tears,you still wouldn’t let them out,let them go.You told me you were scared,I was desperate to take your fears and pains,take them for my own.I struggled to hold your fragile body,horrifiedat what I had done to you
Walls That Scream Walls I wouldn’t notice if they weren’t screaming at me.Shouting not only my namebut my darkest secrets.Screaming them for the world to hearand meunable to escape,the words tearing off the wallsand clinging to me.Holding like weeds,twisting on my skin,and into my clothes.Sucking at my feet andstopping me from moving.And the faces,the distorted, swirling faces.Faces in the words,faces in the wallsand faces in my mind.
More Than Just a Dream You make me want to say thingsand be things.It seems you see me more than anyonebut still not enough.You make me want to swoonand smileand enjoy it all.I want to sit in silencewith my hand in yours.No more hardNo more coldNo more steel in my soul.I want you to see meTo know that I CAN be morethan just a thought.You make me want to be real.
My Memory I will not leave messages.I will not attend the memorial.I will not jump on the mourning bandwagon.I will not intrude on the privacy oftrue friendships.I will remember abig,fun,beautiful personIn my own way.My favourite thought…My presiding memory…You were the one boy I wanted tokiss before I died.How ridiculous it seems now.How childlikeand sweet.Before your angerand hatredand reasons.Before you were grown upbefore you were sad.Before you decided to end it all.
Alone Imagine being left,in a battlefieldalone. In a crowdbut so alone.Your fellow menall aroundyoubut each alone,by himself.And youwatchyour leadersyour officersyour hopewalking away intothe purple night.A night thatshould becelebrated.A nightwherethe stars dancewith all the loveof the world.Absorbed and stolen.Or was it freely given?Does anyone havea use for loveanymore?When you arealonein acrowd,in a battlefield,watching yourhope w a l k a w a y . . .
Desperate This is what you want?A small cryingshyquiveringgirl.A girl afraid of the cornersand terrified of masks.A girl who was forced to grow upand become a fightermuch too young.She howlssilentlyinto the night.Craving the arms and heartbeatthat she never had.Her hands have found an escapein pain.Her mind has found it in far away lands with perfect people.And her heart has found it’s protectionin calluses.She sees in black and white,smells in technicolourand thinks in a thousand words.She asks and begsWill you stay?Let down again,now can never bring herself to say those words again.Desperat
Cigarettes and Alcohol Cigarettes, alcohol and inspiration.Am I to become a stereotypical artist?At the words I see myself 10, 15, 20 years down the line, hunched over a desk inside a tiny, messy, dirty room, caked and layered in filth from previous tenets, also struggling artists.A cigarette almost forgotten in one hand, a drink damping in the air near the other hand.Fingers flying across a page covered in words, marks and scratches. Clothes sombre and too large, hair pulled back, untidy and dirty. Roots undyed and streaks of grey at a young age. Fingers stained black with the ink that is my lifeblood.My unfinished novels strewn across the room, the afte
Dare to Promise To make that commitment,to choose to bear your soul.To look into a person’s eyesand take the plunge.To fight off common senseand to trust the heart.To through cautionand to dare.Dare tosay itfeel itbreath it.Dare toLive andLove andFly andSwim andLaugh andHate andScream andCare andPromise.Dare to promise.
Here I Stand Here I standquietwithdrawnsunkenscared.Wishing only one thing.That youwouldcomecloser.There you standsmilingcaringrobustunsure.Wishing only one thing.That Iwouldstoppushing.
Sta.sh
