TOO DRUNK TO DREAM

why can I not sleep

without 4 cans inside me?

and even then,

so pitifully

too drunk

to dream

tossing,

turning myself off

factory reset

for a factory reject

wishful thinking

mentally listing

the things that displease me

deceiving myself

in believing these thoughts are important

with the warpaint

of ever unnecessary night food

on my chin

all the tea in china is irrelevant

when you'd rather opium instead

to blow my mind

and suck my head

appearing dead

but still painfully aware

of problems that aren't problems

and the double vision

that comes each night

when the drink's done its job and I'm tired

lying to myself that tonight,

i'll sleep sober

KIDS

who are you?
loitering
on concrete steps
with the obscenities
and cheap ecstasy
of a part-time lover
LOWER YOUR VOICE,
lift your knuckles off the ground
and allow me
to teach you
some manners

.COM

buying things,
dying things
waking up this morning
to the
click
click
click
of a bulletproof nothing
something's got me,
inside out
the proud stance
of the last few magic numbers to my name

AT SEA

worse things happen at sea,

you tell me

but

if I was at sea

at least I could drown.

MAGICK

I'm not as sorry

as I know you are

those reds and blues you took

took you far away from me

and our teenage fantasies of Brooklyn

died in our arms

just like you did,

3 days later

 

ashes to ashes

dust to Dustin Hoffman

you stopped breathing

the minute the TV went off

eyes bleeding toxic waste

waiting for collection

with the

love

sex

magick

 

without tears

DOG MAN

fuck it
i'll put my tail between my legs
and walk away
people like you
find it easy
to please me
but it's difficult to please myself
when everything around me is annoying
and my toys don't entertain me like they...
should do
would do
could do
KILL ME
with spilt coffee on a white shirt
and all the other meagre tragedies
of a 5 day week

DNA

"everything in moderation"
but I bet you didn't have THIS in mind
when you said that
sat in the quietest room
of a dying party
partaking in narcotic games
just to stay out of trouble

1 human,
sold as scene
but the soul will cost you extra
slightly used,
soiled by what you gave me
when you made me more
than the quickest sperm
and the learning process
of your 29 years

kill me
and start again
with your undertones of sarcasm,
orgasms of patronising sentences
which I defended
with juvenile philosophies,
vomit
and mistakes

from my circles to yours
boring you
with tales of the unexpected
hiding from you
with sex and upset relatives
(it's all relative)
bring out your dead
and give me paracetamol
for the headache that we share

then maybe we'll set straight a few things
train track braces
for the crooked teeth of our relationship
or maybe i'll remain
the little shit you love
we'll look back to the sun
and turn to salt
to go with the fries
from another dying service station
along the
deoxy
ribo
nucleic
acid
trip we're on

MOLECULES

sometimes I forget myself
this self-inflicted sickness
of picture perfect moments
missing the point
that silence is golden

no noise
no woman
no wave

save our souls
if there's any left
shave our heads
if you think it's right
or wrong:
21 years by yourself
before you met a selfish son
running in sexual circles
warning you of what's to come

molecules
testicles
colliding
trying to fuck
overlooking the fact
that I don't know
what to do

you scare me
it's early,
and I think too much
drink too much
or maybe not enough
to stop the self destructive tendencies
of a molecule like me

CHECK ON

I find myself
with my feet on the air
and head on the ground
the consciousness
rounded
the stainless
painful
steel
to my skin
fingernails encrusted with other people's leisure
and careless conversation
club soap
white heat
and endless wine
drunk to the point of tiredness
confessing of my ignorance
to the fat man with perspiration
armpits,
breasts:
swollen
made holy in their generosity
holes in their pockets
they walk out,
ashamed

check on
check on

the next one to die
gets to go home early

ANGELHEAD

you think you're the bees knees,

don't you?

well please,

let me suggest

that you're only the best

at being an asshole

holy only in you're cracked smile

meanwhile

your mick jagger swagger

impresses no one

a rolling stone gathers no moss

but you seem to have gathered

all the kate moss wannabes

screaming victims of heroin chic

clinging to your ripped jeans

and make believe bands

so why, in moments of weakness,

do I want to be like you?

before realising

I'm just the dog shit on your Chelsea boots

your nonchalance is nothingness

your macho-ness is meaningless

your bullshit bursts my spleen

listen to me as I tell you how pretty you are

with your platitudes and panda eyes

thighs wrapped around her loneliness

your phoniness is killing us

i'll catch you in the rye

and poke you in the eyeballs

you're a ballache

hiding behind your fine taste

and tiny eyes

wide,

as you bore us with stories of hallucinations

I wish you'd trip right down the stairs

like the howling man said

you're an angry fix

burning

with bearded delight

lighting your cigarette so smugly it hurts me

I wish you'd see

the painful glamour

of the wanker

you've become

YOU'RE GOLDEN

you're golden,
man
not the golden brown of what you put in your arm
but your pound coin aura
(you're worth an infinite amount of them)
and I wish you'd believe it
but your glass isn't half empty
or half full
you threw it on the floor
now you're drinking from the bottle instead

nearly headless
with the less than questionable sense of consciousness you get
from all the wrong places
like the men behaving badly
trying to appropriate from you what's yours

sat on pink concrete
pins and needles
needlessly surrounding you
as you try to understand how you got here
wishing you were her
wishing you were golden