The ghost of him, the ghost of me

I haven't written anything here for nearly 5 years which I can promise you is not only overdue, but is wrecking me from inside. I am only writing on this blog Because I don't believe there is actually anyone out there who will listen.... Or take the time to fully appreciate what my mind has conjured up.

On the 17th of March a dear friend died....he took his own life. We lost contact about a year and a half ago. The reason I stopped using this blog in 2010 is because he listened to me, he allowed me to be myself. But unknown to me he needed listening to as well but never showed any of those signs.

I trial myself with guilt
To hide face in the rafters
And knot myself into the past
Hang this head.....

I may have to frequent this page... I have so much to dispel and.....

....and still I am left pondering

I'm spinning around but Only My Heart Is Getting Dizzy

Let this lunatic pass
With his temperamental yet submissive past
Stuttering with Intelligent inspired flair
And caring lips worn down with honest breath.

With worryingly understanding eyes
Often diverted by some sarcastic smile
Cut and altered are those patient hands
Clasping at nothing but stubborn skin.

nervous twitches are my outspoken trait
Generating heat from my irregular pace
I'm spinning around with such a spectacular view
But only my heart is getting dizzy.

Lacuna Central

At half past nine I summoned myself to forgive her, and at precisely nine thirty three I had expelled that curiosity, and just filed it as a whim.

I can’t create a format with which to try and live in, as I just simply can’t live within reason. Every doubt I have are all too often proven. If I am unable to be of some substance to others, then I have to admit that I am no longer resilient to the crush of emotions.

Therefore I must be creative for myself and humour my own twitches.

Self Preservation?

Segregation can be seen as both alienation and personal choice. On one such hand I have the inclination that those who are remanding themselves in order to satisfy a religion or personal faith are indeed depriving themselves of open heart surgery. This being the underlined possibility that they may learn more about who they are from those they impose or only ever know about from among the barricades.

My other hand clutches neatly the observation that we against the melting pot of relations, purely out of spite of what we think we stand for. Standing high up on our pedestals, looking directly down.

I am aware of this pretentious behaviour in so very many areas. Where is the maturity in acceptance and mingling?

Are we becoming a nation fed on self preservation?

Unifrom Of Life

We are all woven, and semi stitched in the hope that we can work on our own threadbare premises. Grappling at needles with stubborn fingers, and redesigning our minds. I hung my suit up in full view, Livid grey and mouldering in structure. I have worn this attire for far too long. My super hero costume that never took to the air, or survived the battle of flinching. The aching off white shirt, all stretched out and flagging at the stomach. Trousers’ walked to the bone, and tie loosened and slack redeeming colour. Tarnished shoes kicked out and weathered.

My uniform of life should not be of matter, yet still it causes concern. I was not wearing my customised career and fat wallet hat.

What not to wear? A robe of honesty, as it almost leaves you naked.

I swept myself up into a mild manner and flew into a rage. With pennies in my pocket, I am examining the choices of new skin. With very few on offer for my shrapnel this may be a frequent journey.

Mind counselling or voice cancelling?

Inevitably I would shrug off those who in my option are more of a hindrance than a welcome comfort. This is tactile on my part. I have also set out to repay many with my attitude of treating others how you wish to be treated.

Many to a degree have a personal and lonely grudge with life, while others may be prone to the discouragement of those supposedly close by. The later with encourage needs to be addressed, and is. I will then be able to find myself and my prominent place.

I think the direct cause of this is the lack of understanding of who I really am. This has for such a time been a hindrance. Acceptance and most of all respect.

In retrospect of this I ponder on the thought. Do I need the help? Or should I finally accept that this has been the ignorance of others.

Words And Moments

Maybe White Doves

You looked before you stepped I just touched the floor Their feathers felt your ears But did the mind explore? I stood in for gravity When your feelings were exposed Fragments torn from fragments I am amazed you flew so far.

*

Slightly More Ludicrous

Maybe I am mad Or maybe just imagining Am I so wrong To perhaps be enjoying it. If I want to laugh at my own reflection Or dance without music Why should you take it upon yourself to care At least in my mind I have some friends there. If I shout at an empty space Or believe I have been to outer space Don’t ever let it get to you It’s just a way of entertaining myself. Maybe I’m mad But is that so wrong If I was sane I would prefer not to live at all. * Fruit Of The Blood Her richness in red She is full bodied So ripe to perfection And so aroused when I taste her. But she will not let me drink all of her For she is far too potent We just breathe together And let the moon be our witness. Just like the picking of a forbidden fruit I have stolen you from such loneliness And alike the desire of a rouge wine I hold you with the intent of just simply sipping you.