If Kisses Mattered

My friend, we may of been allies for passing upon passing of the sun
But you shouldn’t dare shoot me a look like that in front of the cheese scones
While I unveil another tale of a romantic exploit crashing into the bushes
The way you tell me to stop pushing for 200mph on the first lap
It takes me back to an era long lost where kisses weren’t just a method
To escalate to sensual liberation but actually meant a damn all on their own

So I decide to try and spread it like the last of the butter
That’s trying to cater to a breakfast meant for 4
It may last for longer but it don’t taste nearly as sweet anymore
And that’s not even accounting the distortion in the mirrors image
The plates of my skin start to crack from my fingers like bark
Little quirks in my speech became foghorns, coughs became gunshots
When you started at me from the edge of your bed, and turned away
A ravine of sludge leaking from openings must’ve been all you could see
It’s only way my mind could make sense of things
As each passing day went us by, that we went untouched

And now I’m left here like a chorus with no subtext
I just want you to open my pores and give me context
I could be risking another wreckage for sure
But to risk censoring myself is a fate far worse
I want to lock our psyches by the pinky fingers
So while our keisters share a plot of cobble stone
Outside of a treasure map destination
I bleat a plea in a soft frequency into your ears

“Oh lady it’s just lately I’ve been feelin’ real ugly
So hook me by the folds of my skin and embrace me”

There’s Majesty In The Art Of Doing Nothing

Gorging on the flavours of a grass reed
The tip of my hat blinding of the worlds evils
Like shirtless apes poking a ball around
While sniffing the skirts of innocent passers-by
And low end music students butcher Skinny Love
In the hopes of finding validation in their life choices
While the ladies parade the cobble catwalk
With shoestring outfits on a shoestring budget

I live for them milliseconds chances
Where the ends of our arm hairs collide
If just for a fraction, while we try and get comfortable
It’s the perfect catalyst for the event
Where the gravity between us grows more intense
A mysterious phenomenon that we can’t explain
I better hold onto your hand dear
Before you float away from us, into the stars unknown

Conversations flow like butter
Our limbs tangle like taffy
Subjects slide away like grease
Smiles behind fringes like sugar
Top it off with caricature descriptions
Slathered head to toe with syrup

Barraged by thoughts of tracing fridge magnet drawings on your side
Whilst you stand just outside of my bedroom window
Your silhouette contrasting with the collapse of the day time
Like a monument erected behind a cathedral stain window
Trying to keep away from miles away, my current Everest
There’s nothing I can do, I have to abandon my cool, and gush to you

With my limbs and tongue infused with velocity
I offer refuge from the English weathers tantrum
We could widdle away the hours trying to find the moles on our arms
Playing thumb wars, I spy and analyse the dye in our eyes
Because if you ask me there’s an art in wasting time
With the most immaculate company a boy could hope to find

~Dedicated To Esme~

Acting Domineering With The Clubbers Of Colchester

Why’d you have to shriek at me so fucking loud?
I’m trying my hardest to juice a bit of joy from this car wreck
But in the midst of this murder of scavengers
The type that pick apart the scraps of poor lost lambs
Caked in petrol station cologne, it’s a sickening sight
You slump in your seat as if inviting me to do the same
I was born with more class then that love
And besides what exactly have you done to sell me on the act?

All you’ve done is make your disappointment in my boredom known
If I had a penny for everytime I came under criticism
Cos’ I refused to fall in line for the male stereotype
I’d of brought you a taxi home, just to get you out of my face

You shell out a drug lords daily paycheck
To sit your arses in the in the side of the club
Snapping evidence of having a good night out
To justify your empty wallet the next day
But oh my god I’m falling asleep
I left my mothers womb 21 years ago to have fun
So why is it such a trail to get you on the dancefloor
Lets put them litres of booze in us to good use!

Oh please let me free!
I can’t stand to put up with this anymore
There’s more to life then drinking and making evidence for it
Get a hobby, get a life, get a fucking clue
I wish you weren’t such a disappointment
I wish you didn’t make me so mad
I wish you’d just let me be myself, instead of a ‘man’
Maybe it’ll be better if you just fucked off?

Created as a counterpart to this poem:
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/84960870662/acting-submissive-with-the-clubbers-of-colchester

Acting Submissive With The Clubbers Of Colchester

You don’t have to yell at me so loud
I’m trying my hardest to have a good time and crack a smile
But in the midst of this murder of scavengers
The type that pick apart the scraps of poor lost lambs
Who have lost the sparkle in their eyes
I see you spread out in the back of the bar like a corpse
I wish I could obey the green lights at the racetrack
But I can’t find the heart to reach out and take it

Oh and you make your disappointment in my discomfort known
If I had a penny for every time I am under criticism
Cos’ I refused to fall in line for the male stereotype
I’d of brought the taxi home to save you the embarrassment

I wish I could tear your focus away from your phone screen
Trying to gather the scraps of a good night out
I just want to grab you by the wrist, and pull you up
Into the phantasm of the violet lights
And dance the dread away, loosen up them thighs
Run your hair inbewteen my fingers
And plant the sweetest embrace
But you’ve lost your willpower you just want to sink into the seats

Oh please let me go!
I can’t stand to see you like this anymore
You fidget and squirm like a child in a push-chair
We just aren’t comfortable together it would seem
I didn’t mean to be such a disappointment
I didn’t mean to make you so sad
I didn’t mean to fail you as a man
Maybe it’ll be better if I just went home

Created as a counter part to this poem
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/84961086712/acting-domineering-with-the-clubbers-of-colchester

Do You Hate Me?

That look of worry when you opens your eyes
See? She hates you
When you get out of my bed like a robot
See? She hates you
How you shrug my hand from your shoulder
See? She hates you
The way you hold that silent note
See? She hates you
That way you carry yourself down the stairs
See? She hates you
When you show my lips your cheek
See? She hates you
When you don’t say you’ll see me again
See? She hates you
And I’m just left waving to the door
See? She hates you

It never hurts as much as it does then
When you know they’re glad to be out of your door
Your love notes became a lot more dry since then
Devoid of letters or a personal touch
Using an efficient lack of words as you could
All to give the doggy his bone, not cos you wanted too
No explanation, no warning of what I did
I just wanted to hold you through out the week
All I ever did was try to make you feel my affection
But no she hates you

That’s just the way the dating game goes
She’ll come to hate you
Atoms clash at an alarming rate
She’ll come to hate you
We’ll share memories in the taxi
She’ll come to hate you
You’ll drain me of sensual ecstasy
She’ll come to hate you
But they always grow to hate you
She already hates you

Pull You Closer To My Heart

My appetite is swelling to gargantuan proportions
As I keep my gaze deadlocked on the clouds passing through the skies
Each second the clock strikes, feels like a little victory
I’m a caged leviathan ready to feel the sand on my belly again

It feels like a silly to infer
When you’re raised from a bud with the ideals of the city
But I never feel like I’m really alive, if I’m not surrounded
By these Mediterranean concepts sugar coated by rural gumdrops
These come in form of makeshift cafes, funded by a failed college fund
and neon clad penny munchers ready resurrect a dying youth
It’s clear I was made to act out my golden days here
I was born to live and die fantasising about the beach

There’d be no shame in indulging in this fantasy idealism
Of interpreting the coastal slums and rotting back alleyways
Into sun kissed pathways of golden bricks and Dali graffiti tags
As a solo exhibition, but I could use a witness
I hope they unlock the collar from your neck
I hope your mind is prepared for the barrage of eyes
I know you’re not always free to frolic when the landing lights blaze
I just want to cement your presence in my dream days

I can show you the soiled patios down the side of the corner shop
Where decade old fossils of fictitious duels of cardboard knights
And invisible dragons took place all I like
But you’ll never get any closer to origins of my ecstasy
Then on a windy noon in the middle of spring
Just past the claw’s and the Ice Cream vendors

Dynamite (W.I.P)

Under the constant gaze of those who provide asylum
She could never even leave a shred of evidence
Of the werelass she becomes underneath the full sun’s gaze
The sleeves come apart, the trousers rip at the seams
As she howls at the sky, as if the scare away the night
She fully intends to take them up on there offers
As she dips her fingertips and palms in the paint
She doesn’t intend to leave without making her mark known

Leaving the states of the vicarious older boys
Like an skip nesting outside of a vacant council estate
They’re free to take anything inside, now she’s hit the road
Oh yes she’s dynamite
Shooting the sun’s glare the brightest smile

With the eyes of ego, pried open by the audience’s cheer
She spots the horizons the self tried so hard to hide
She see’s there’s so much to analyse and more to learn
See’s there’s a plethora of hosts to act as her avatar
She sits on the pavement with blue eyes
And draws profiles with hustled patio chalk
She lays on the soil with green shirt
And spots constelations contrasting with the void

They slink home after they escape the virgins gaze
Hoisting their collars sky high to mask the war wounds
Reeling from agony the second their backs hit the shower
Oh yes she’s dynamite
Shooting the dimples in the ceiling the brightest smile

The Perfect Concept Of A Date In Tatters

*An old one I wrote when I was 17 that I just came across*

Can you remember the times of yore
Walking down the empty dull lit steets
Locked together by a statment
Knowing were it was we were going
Their was no alternative to this lone routes
Nothing could in our wildest dreams could go wrong

But now the streets are clatered with people
The likes i’ve never witnessed before
Pouring in from taverns like the flood
Serving no purpose but to get in our way
But maybe i speak to soon on our behalf
As your lock on me is loosening ever so slowly

He wiskes you away in obscured visionary
All it ever takes is shelter and the deals done
You can’t take what you promised him now
But to take it from me is all to easy
Their is no lock, their is no streets, their are no people
Just walking aimlessly untill i find it agian

Numb arse? Crowed street? Alone? Chances are your outside sixth form

Whhooaaa indie cindie’s taking her time
She was ment to be here at quter to four
I’ve only got 2 years till i’m out of prime
I hope she won’t take to long

Parked on the cold slab known as the sixth form stairs, on a cold wensday afternoon
With the sounds of old Alex moaning how he couldn’t take his brid on tour
Wisling gently through my ears as the viral marketing for indipendant fashion runs out the doors
Buddies and Pal’s walking throught the rabble as they set of home to their cozy bus seats
Beacuse walking in anything under 10 dagree’s is unthinkable as is over 12
With numb as fuck arse i start to debate is my time being put to good use here?

Floods of icons flood the streats bangles and strings in arm
With a Model on one arm and a sidekick perched unwillingly on the other
Droves and droves have come and gone, but don’t you worry i won’t have to wait long
Cos she’ll come i know for sure, just a few more minuites just a few more

Oooop purple hair’s contraversial
The wollen hand knitted jumpers orginal
As orginal as the last 4 people that wore it
There are other shops in town than Topman and Revolv… actually scratch that there aren’t

Half four’s taking the piss, i think we can all agree
Their’s only so many tracks shuffle could throw at me
Yet another Motorhead song? So much for shuffle it would seem
But your redeemed for your next choice of the lone libertine

Floods of icons flood the streats
With a Model on one arm and summant in the other
Droves and droves have come and gone, but don’t you worry i won’t have to wait long
Cos she’ll come i know for sure, just a few more seconds…. COME ON!

If half four’s taking the piss you can imagine me at five
And shuffle is starting to get on my very last ne…
MOTORHEAD AGIAN!? ARE YOU TAKING THE PISS!?
Y’know what? She wasn’t fit anyway, so fuck this