80′s Kids Having Kids

What if you got his pause?
You think it’s just that easy?
Do you think he’d match your deal?
King for king, deck for deck
That he’d even stick around for the 2nd deal
After the audience has been appeased
Once he’s ego’s be re-inflated
“See? Carol saw me do that thing”
Cradling his ceremonial mug
Repeating the same summer park fable
I hope you didn’t put to much on that bet
Cos nothings quite gelling with you tonight

Was ‘love’ quite how you imagined it?
Or was it not as the prophecies foretell
You’ll never be a priority
Not when the real return is in the new blood

What if she sends you birthday cards?
You think it’s just that easy?
Do you think she’d lick your wounds clean?
Close every gash, stitch every cut

Lnc0

He’s Not Always Like This

You’re not the only thing in your orbit anymore
But you’d never catch that with a still life of us
Sullen eyebrows and penny drop silences
Hypnotised spouses and distress signals
I try to break through the atmosphere with choking
Inquires and concerns squeeze through a closed windpipe
But I get the feedback of a crackle in a crash site
We’re joint at the hip, but I’m so alone

I make the same impact entering your vicinity
That a knock knock joke makes at a funeral
The disinterest is making me dip dye into madness
Nothing baits it more then your own thoughts echoing off the wall
I need to start taking chemistry on the side
Cos I don’t know which formula hidden in the air
Turns my cries for help into a defensive reaction from you
Each outstretched arm like a knife in your hide
Each yearn for affection; a threat to your precarious ego
Not when your bacon is smeared on these support beams
The change of oil, scented candles, a premium dota account
Like fuck should I dare take that way from you
So I guess I’ll sit back and take in the atmosphere
We locked ourselves in here, but I’m still so alone

I just really like you
About as much as you’ve become sick of me
I keep liking you more and more
Maybe at the same rate of you become weary of me
We’re on route to be betrothed, but I’m so alone

I miss giving rasberries on your neck
I miss tickling the inside of your palms
I miss neglecting the stars for a full view of you
I really like you, but I’m so alone

Now I have no idea where I am
Leaving a leeches impression on his neck
Leaving a tally with my nails on the toilet cubical
I feel weird
My skin feels like it’s peeling off my arms
As he runs his fingers down my silhouette
My spit feels foreign, My tears feel like waste
And as I whisper worship to him, he breathes life into me
I don’t know him and he can do it, anyone can
Anyone who isn’t you can breathe life into me
I don’t like him, but now I feel I’m in reality again
I feel so weird

I can’t stand missing you, when I see you everyday
I reek of substance and perspiration
But it’s still not enough to raise an octave out of you
A nod, a twitch if I’m lucky, and then back to null
I feel super weird, I feel like I wanna die
I take his 50 and your old parka
I take anything I call my own into a bag
I dodge tear stains and haste together a cliff note
“Fuck you
Anyone could do it and you choose not too
Just fuck you!”
I jump into his car and make a dive out of your field
You’re the only thing in your orbit now
But did you even notice anything different
Can anyone else do it too?
Now I’m across the toll booth
I feel so fucking weird
Now I’m really alone
And now I don’t know what I feel…

October Poetry Month 1/31

The Kids Of The 60’s And 70’s Are Useless‏

We’ve been told we’re the lost generation
An age that’s thrown our lives to the cycle of sleaze
But we’re really the generation that’s just trying to cope
Picking up the trash left behind by the settlers of ‘67
Coming home to an empty home again and again
Feeding of the scraps and sparing our own rods

Tell your mumma to mind her own business
Tell your pappy he doesn’t have to worry
Because the kids of the 60’s and 70’s never grew up
And it’s up to us to clean up after them

The kids of the 80’s and 90’s are in reality so much more
We’ve learnt from our neighbours to swat away the handicaps
Of a disappearing drunken father, you only offered you another fag
Of a malfunctioning mother who traded your lunch money for another hit
And for those parents who decided to stick around
We’ve learnt to only expect, to be told the things we never did
To be told we can’t do things, To treat NVQ’s like pictures on the fridge
To accept we’re punching bags for their own poor life choices

We’ve adapted to take compliments from the mirror
To treat our homes no less of a warzone then the urban jungle outside of it
To drown out that nagging in our ear that tries to reinforce
That just because they never saw you staving of suicide
While staring at another application on Reed.com
That it never happened, and that your useless

We’ve learnt to brush it off our shoulders
Because when the time comes, after hours and decades of labour
Of honing your acrylic blade, and sharpening your tongue
And you see the kids of the 60’s and 70’s
Chewing on their Beastie Boys Vinyl and while sucking their thumbs
Looking confused without a son or daughter to take their anger out on
And asking what they could’ve possibly of done wrong to have been left behind
You’ll know you came all the way up here from tattered clothes
And feeding of the scraps of government donated rations
And you’ll know you did it all on your own

Tell your pappy to mind his own business
Tell your mumma you got it all under control
Tell them you still believe they love you
Because the kids of the 60’s and 70’s couldn’t even keep a cat alive
Let alone try and cushion the blow from the sober fact
That the kids of the 80’s and 90’s have no future to look forward too

– Lnc0