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Epiphany

Conservatory lights
illuminating as I exhale
cigarette smoke from a mouth full of words
I will never speak.
Something so easy,
an answer so simple,
eighteen nights since I last stood at the window.

The night sky is clear,
and everything’s changed.

The corner sits empty,
bottles untouched,
poems unwritten,
tears I refused to cry.

Cold air bites my skin,
tiny lights in the sky look down on someone entirely different,
and I smile.
I close the window.

… I don’t need it anymore.

 
42 Comments

Posted by on April 4, 2012 in Poetry

 

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When you’re on your own, it’s a long walk home

I went a bit crazy yesterday and decided that I would spend the entire day rearranging my bedroom and cleaning under the furniture – from the sublime to the ridiculous, you may say – and you know what? I did it. After hours of swearing, sweating, broken nails, too many smoke breaks and two whole films along with most of my Youtube playlist, I got it finished eventually, and I have to say I’m quite proud. It looks good. I’ve put my bed under the window against the radiator (tried turning it off since I overheat like a pig in a sauna, but couldn’t turn the knob) and moved my desk next to the bed, so I can reach my lamp more easily and also sit on my office chair with my legs up, rather than having to lie on the bed if I want to be comfortable. The telly’s been moved to the foot of my bed so I don’t have to sit in a ridiculous position to watch it, and I cleaned as much of the room as I could manage before collapsing. I still need to sort out my clothes and fold them neatly in drawers rather than have them strewn around the house like a gigantic floordrobe, but I’ll have to do that another day; I’m knackered now. In a good way.

On Tuesday I went for a walk, along the embankment beside the water-treatment plant. The sun was just beginning to set and the mashes were peaceful. I smoked a joint and watched some ducks paddle around in a marshy puddle. For all the faults living in a seaside town has (I have a mortal fear of tourists), we do get amazing sunsets – even the weak ones are impressive – and living a minute away from a nature reserve is perfect. I briefly volunteered for the RSBP on the reserve, but only went twice before copping out; it just wasn’t for me. I’ll miss it here when I leave; it’s always been my private place.

Went to the garage to buy tobacco, and coped pretty well. In all, I was outside on my own for around 40 minutes, and walked along two main roads. That’s more than I’ve done in months, and it’s only now I realise that I’ve missed it terribly. Considering I’m so fearful of the outdoors, I like being out of the house as much as possible. Typical.

I’m going to Liverpool with Z tomorrow.

 
13 Comments

Posted by on January 18, 2012 in Every day life

 

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21st December

Yesterday, I finally helped my mother start clearing out her bedroom. Currently, she’s sleeping in the spare room and has been for a couple of years now, because it’s been impossible to even open her bedroom door because of all the boxes, books, clothes and amassed items filling the whole room from floor to ceiling. We pulled out the bags full of  my clothes which I haven’t seen since I left J and packed in a hurry, and I sorted them for charity. It felt a bit sad getting rid of a lot of my stuff, but I have far too many (I bought stuff I’d never even wear, in a crisis of confidence a few years ago) and some of it reminds me too much of that cold, broken-down house and the cold, broken-down relationship.

Whilst in her bedroom, I found a few things. A diary entry I’d written after O and I split up, a single Tramadol tablet, some Naproxen and, worryingly, a suicide/running away note I’d written years ago. I can only assume that my mother found it and, for some reason, kept it. It feels strange to think she’s read these things but for once I don’t think I can be angry for the invasion of privacy. I know I was acting strangely at the time, and perhaps they explained a few things.

I took the Tramadol and Naproxen and enjoyed the calm, slightly confused feeling as I slept for a few hours yesterday afternoon. I haven’t done so much physical activity for a long time, and every muscle ached, but it felt strangely liberating. Despite everything, I managed to help out a little.

I have no idea what date the diary entry is from, but it was written in 2009. Winter, by the sounds of it.

“I’d love to know how long I’ve been faking it. How long have I kept a strained smile painted on my face an hid the fact that my world is crashing around me? At exactly which point did I become the sort of person who has a cigarette to alleviate stress and considers drinking just to sleep a little easier? When did I stop talking?

I have no idea why I’m finding it so hard to just say, “you know what? I’m not coping. I’m depressed”. I fill my days with distractions, just so I don’t have to face up to knowing something inside me has broken and no amount of anything seems to fix it.

It’s become something of a routine now to hang out of the window and smoke at midnight. For a while, I avoided the window; it reminded me of too manyy sleepless night in the summer and early autumn, when everything went so wrong. When I avoided switching off the light so I wouldn’t have to face up to the inevitable nightmares and the morning anxiety when my phone calls to O went unanswered. I probably wrote my best poetry during that time, but that’s a very small positive gleaned from a massive negative.

And now, I’m back at the window. I haven’t written any poems for a few weeks; the inspiration has been there, but everything I try to write seems too forced, too much of a cliché. I suppose that’s all I am though; just a big cliché.

I’ve taken a sleeping pill. O and I napped together earlier (well, I crashed out next to him while he watched tv) and we held hands, which felt amazing. Chances are I’m not going to sleep easily tonight. I’ve been avoiding taking the sleeping pills, I’ve been getting more headaches  and feel wiped out the next morning, but sometimes I can’t face the thought of being awake for hours, thinking things over until I’ve worked myself into a state. Need to put a prescription in tomorrow; I only have a few left.

I’ve been putting off going near the doctor. And the gym. And the bookshop. I’ve been having panic attacks, and I’m just not in the mood to face up to them.”

I’m regretting taking the Naproxen, especially because it was a double dose. Spent all night with a stomach ache and didn’t sleep. Silly idea. Very silly idea.

 
14 Comments

Posted by on December 21, 2011 in Every day life

 

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Epiphany

Conservatory lights
illuminating as I exhale
cigarette smoke from a mouth full of words
I will never speak.
Something so easy,
an answer so simple,
eighteen nights since I last stood at the window.

The night sky is clear,
and everything’s changed.

The corner sits empty,
bottles untouched,
poems unwritten,
tears I refused to cry.

Cold air bites my skin,
tiny lights in the sky look down on someone entirely different,
and I smile.
I close the window.

… I don’t need it anymore.

(c) 2008.

 
16 Comments

Posted by on December 13, 2011 in Poetry

 

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Perfect Poet Award – Windowpane

I don’t want to spend another night at my window,
I should have outgrown this, now everything’s changed,
but I can’t shake this feeling, I can’t find the proof,
that everything’s not still
just
the
same.

Empty pill packets to force me to sleep,
an image of you, the last thing I see,
an image of me, once again in the corner,
I see you, but do you
ever
see
me?

The moon sits alone in velvet sky.
voices of neighbours who never knew my name,
I stand here waiting, waiting for you,
the clock reaches midnight,
I’m
by
the
windowpane.

(c) 2008

Thank you very much for the award; it’s very, very appreciated. I nominate Charles L Mashburn / Marbles In My Pocket.

http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/

 
4 Comments

Posted by on October 26, 2011 in Poetry

 

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Lanterns

I stand alone,
but not quite secluded,
in a comfortable peace I never knew I could feel.

I consider.

All that I could be
if I just tried harder.

Everything I used to be,
something I now regret.

Who I am,
and who I’ve let down.

I stand at the window,
a different place than it ever used to be,
something so wrong, turned so right.

5 minutes past midnight
with tiny lights above my head.

A long-empty bottle to remind me,
and a cigarette,
as always.

Forgive me.

My thoughts turn to you.

To us.

And the things which always
meant more.

Tiny lanterns hang in the sky,
despite it all.

(c)

.

 
16 Comments

Posted by on October 12, 2011 in Poetry

 

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I Hold The Stars

Stars refuse to shine tonight,
my sky is darker than ever before,
Summer slips effortlessly into Autumn,
as I keep vigil at the window once more.

I’ve written these words a thousand times,
felt these emotions more than I’d care,
I’ve walked this room and talked to these walls,
every night since you stopped being there.

You may think it strange, you may say you’re around,
but that means so little when you’re miles away.
when feelings run cold and nights last forever,
and I attempt coping in my own way.

You smiled today, you looked into my eyes,
and I considered perhaps it may not all be lost,
with your fingers inside me and kisses so warm,
but I now freeze, as the night turns to frost.

Empty streets with nobody around,
an empty room which still holds your vibrations,
afraid to move pillows which still smell of you,
… afraid to remember our last conversations.

Am I losing you, is this all I was,
someone to let go of when it suited?
My body aches and I don’t want to think,
that I must have loved, more than you ever did.

If you could see me tonight, would it change your mind?
If I broke down in front of you, would you ever see?
If I tore myself open in a less private way,
would you ever remember why you once loved me?

I hold the stars, they’re all I have,
words don’t mean half of what I believed,
I stand at the window, replaying what you said,
and I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to believe.

I always loved you more than the stars,
and I always needed you more than you’ll know,
I always felt more for you, than you felt for me,
and tonight, for the first time, I believe it shows.

(c)  2008.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on July 6, 2011 in Poetry

 

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Lanterns

I stand alone,
but not quite secluded,
in a comfortable peace I never knew I could feel.

I consider.

All that I could be
if I just tried harder.

Everything I used to be,
something I now regret.

Who I am,
and who I’ve let down.

I stand at the window,
a different place than it ever used to be,
something so wrong, turned so right.

5 minutes past midnight
with tiny lights above my head.

A long-empty bottle to remind me,
and a cigarette,
as always.

Forgive me.

My thoughts turn to you.

To us.

And the things which always
meant more.

Tiny lanterns hang in the sky,
despite it all.

(c) 2008

 
14 Comments

Posted by on June 26, 2011 in Poetry

 

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