I’m of on a road trip to Brighton soon for the weekend, here’s the playlist I made for the ride there

Rock The Boat – Beautiful Music – The Rifles
The Next Time Around – Little Joy
Seven Days Too Long – Dexys Midnight Runners
First Of My Kind – Miles Kane
Just What I Needed – The Cars
My Sharona – The Knacks
Night Time Is The Right Time – The Sonics
One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer – George Throngood
The Train From Kansas City – The Shangri-Las
No Fun (The Stooges Cover) – Dirty Beaches
Sure Shot – Beastie Boys
Dogheart II – The Growlers
Damned If She Do – The Kills
You & I – Richard Hawley & The Death Ramps (Arctic Monkeys)
Standing Next To Me – The Last Of The Shadow Puppets
Paranoid – Black Sabbath
I Wanna Be Your Dog – The Stooges
The Chase Is Better Then The Catch – Motorhead
Date With The Night – Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Sunday Morning – The Velvet Underground

The shades will be on, during the entire playlist

FYI feedback on how to not be shit via ask would be greatly appreciated

….I mean at poetry not at life!

Shackled (W.I.P)

Another Wednesday night spent in solitary confinement
With the soulless drones that regulate the beer stained stools
Clutching my nectar with one hand
Sinking my fingers in L’Oreal tinted forests with the other
It’d be around this time I’d of gotten your call
Bet all our wages in on branded mental antiseptics
I’m sure we knew our smiles were never true
But stricken with the weekday blues, what else was there to do?

We’re all just a bunch of confused kids
Backed up against the walls of our own convictions
The stupid things we’ll do when we’re urged to make a choice
Monetary debts, emotional obligations and clueless detective work
We’ll hang out, in an ‘outdated since the naughties’ fashion
In after hours children’s parks, as if to inspire a sense of youth

Does the empty feeling ever stop?
Does being hollow ever go out of fashion?

Channelling the spirit of the Swedish brewery itself
With it’s export valiantly nestled in your hands
You’ll re-adjust your spectacles as your turn your glare skyward
As if you’ve just clocked on to the diamond moon at the shop window
Stamping your heels into the shreds of bark
You’ll make the vow you’ll never let this town get you down
And that you won’t stop until your writing smash winter fireplace hits
As the sunset rains in through the blinds of your shoebox
With such a scorch in your belly, a gleam in your eyes
I had to say you outshone the moon

So It breaks my belief; that a life can be well spent
When I still spot your shadows around this domain, well past the due date
Caressing the scars we left behind for a sense of comfort
Entertaining silhouettes like we didn’t notice each other instantly
It breaks my heart to say; but I think this town’s got us beat
We’re both already dead, I just don’t think we know it yet

Does the empty feeling ever stop?
Does being hollow ever go out of fashion?
Does the desolate feeling ever go away?
Does being vacant ever stop feeling so right?

You deserve better then this
You deserve better then us

26/03/06 > 03/04/10

thetartanprelude:

I sit in the aftermath of a rotten moment
Bathed in the darkness of modern designs
Head perched in hands my mind fades back
And I move my head to your direction

I could swallow domestic sadness on any other day
But on the eve of parental celebration I do struggle
The guest of honour…

The idea that I could make someone who has never met my mother feel empathy for her, years after her passing with just my words and sentences is such an honour to me

I guess I have a knack for this type-y word-y thing huh?

26/03/06 > 03/04/10

Counting Freckles (Actually Good Version)

I can’t articulate the anger I’m feeling right now at the Gaia
When the rays sneak past your curtains and intrude the picturesque scene
I couldn’t even conceive the idea of turning a band new page
Pushing the previous day to the side to start one without you
Take refuge with me within the darkness of the sheets
Under the covers where time is forced to cease
And the cancer rays have no chance of pierce through our reality
To me it’s still Sunday, hours pass like seconds and sonnets pass like comments

There’s no chance at coherent through or complex social patterns
My body is turned to stone and my mind moulded into cookie dough
All I can I do pay silent tribute to your adorable little grin
Your early morning mop, the auditory bliss of a morning yawn
It’s a self inflicted disability, but I couldn’t even begin to complain
So here we are at the advent of the afternoon, and I’m just counting freckles

And now we’re in a very special place, where we reject the visionary senses
But I can tell your resting your head on my chest, when I feel your respiratory rhythm
It feels like a waste to stay dormant when I’m teased by your perfect silhouette
The eyes may fail, but every follicle that comes into contact with mine
It paints a very clear picture of the masterpiece that lay before me
So I trace a Piccaso with my nails on the cavans that was gifted for me
Each corner I turn sends the signal for the hairs to reach for the skies
The goosebumps start to rise and your back begins to arch
You grapplehook my attention with that debilitating gaze
You don’t move a muscle and you wouldn’t dare say a word
But the ripples in the atmosphere that come from the flicker of your brow
I’ve bathed in the darkness long enough to know exactly what it is your asking for
So I start to change the course, and begin trace a figure eight
At the intersection where the sun never shines, yet still flourishes

My body is turned to stone and my mind moulded into cookie dough
All I can do is silently worship your illuminating kisses
So here we are, coming up to the tail end of the afternoon
And all I want to do is keep counting eyelashes

Counting Freckles (Horrible Late Night First Draft)

I can’t articulate the anger I’m feeling right now at the Gaia
When the rays sneak past your curtains and intrude the picturesque scene
The cancer rays tear through the security of the sheets
We take refuge under the covers, and kick the day off with a simple “Hello”

There’s no chance at coherent through or complex social patterns
My body is turned to stone and my mind moulded into cookie dough
All I can I do pay silent tribute to your cute little grin
Your early morning mop, the auditory bliss of a morning yawn
It’s a self inflicted disability, but I couldn’t even begin to complain
So here we are at the advent of the afternoon, and I’m just counting freckles

While I take hostile in your arms, you find a new home in the centre of my chest
In the presence of such flawless design, I’m compelled to serve and obey
So I trace a Piccaso with my nails on the canvas that lay before me
Each corner I turn sends the signal for the hairs to reach for the skies
The goosebumps start to rise and your back begins to arch
You grapple my hook my gaze with them big brown eyes
As you pose a request by the way you apply force to my wrists
I trace a figure eight in places the sun will never shine

*This is awful, but I’m keeping it as a reminder to NOT post first drafts ever, even when super tired and high on life, this forever will be a blight on my record looool*

The Sonic Cycle IRL (W.I.P)

Now don’t get me wrong, your optimism in your admiration for me is darling
The way your eyes rival the strobe lights when your clutch my hand
Making sure we never lose contact under the mercy of the dance floor
But it’s arrogant for you to assume your the first
And it’s naive of me to assume you’ll make sure your the last
When the sugar leaves your blood and the month comes to a close
And you come to meet me on a cloudy noon by the tennis courts
You’ll forfeit that twinkle in your eyes, just like the predecessors before you

You’re name starts the chimes in my memory
Your past credentials have impressed me fellow enigma
The origins may vary from person to person
The fairy tale has ended and my interest has waned
My self-esteem will be the catalyst to my laziness
But it always ends in the same way

I’m losing my faith, that anyone’s gonna break the cycle
No matter the creed, colour or class it always goes the same
What’s to stop me from disconnecting completely?
When the excuses are the same?
When they all lead the same?
When they’re all the same?

Try as I might I’ll never escape the wheels of fortune
The scene loops again like a broken vinyl
How typical when I open my body up, and let these sensual thunderbolts
Invade the gateways into their epicentres to provide that taste of heaven
All I did was ask for a little admiration in return
Then I’ll see the same drop in their smiles on my pillows

You’re my Betty Crocker interlude
To break up a conveyor of base processes
Then why do the texts suddenly stop?
You’re my mascot clad onesie
After hours of grinding in corsets and heels
Then why does your grip loosen from my hand?

I’m losing my faith, that anyone’s gonna break the cycle
No matter the creed, colour or class it always goes the same
What’s to stop me from disconnecting completely?
When they all get bored the same?
When they all lie the same?
When they’re all the same?

* From the Gynophobia series*

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

14/02/2014

At first, as if too marionette your actions, I feigned indifference at the offer
For a 30 quid overdraft in the name of smearing the dye of my jacket
Against the half price circa 1990 bargain bin wallpaper
All to the soundtrack of to a chart of the charts
All to the flavour of a 6 pack of lukewarm ale
I could’ve died and fallen to the bridge bar underworld

Until you stole my gaze, the second I caught your reflection in the fridge
The bar I could never reach, A ruby amongst the garnet
I knew I couldn’t live with myself, until I’ve exchanged language with you
A beer pong spectator, A greatest movie debater, A sexy story dictator
Whatever role you wish to play, it’s fine by me, as long as it keeps you talking to me
And I can keep seeing that intoxicating smile

As time treacles down the drain, along with the Rosé wine
Our cheeks have gone the way of the rouge stains on the carpet
As I bare a witness to the Aurora Borealis of the night
It’s when your eyes start to illuminate the room when you begin to divulge your passions
The way you describe the stage, it’s as if it’s a piece of Asgard on your little blue rock
Each description of how each cog turns the machine, gets me excited with you
I’d like to think I’m not so shallow as to lose my breath at the flex of intellect
But I can’t deny the saliva pushes against the palate, when these words leave your lips

You try and deter me with cautionary statistics, and ask to refocus my beer goggles
You sink your head into you chest as you lament about your vessel to me
I have to chuckle to myself, that you’d think such a thing would turn me away
As I engage in the one of my excruciation mental battles with my occipital lobe
You see it’s taking him a while to believe the mortal avatar of Aphrodite
Is still talking to me when she has a catalogue of Adonises to pick and mix from

You say I could do better, but baby don’t you understand
I’ve tasted the greatest soma, and it’s just apple squash
I’ve tangled with the most complex nous, and it’s just channel surfing
All in comparison to you, golden trophies turn into copper coins
I know I don’t deserve to clean the dirt between your toes
But if you feel generous, maybe I could loan a kiss or two from you
When our calves are in-between the shoes, pressed up against the front door
Seconds feel like days, when I’m so close to them mocha corneas

Each inch of your construction deserves my full attention
I could spend a millennium caressing each and every pour of your body with my lips
Timing each and every kiss, with the precision of a diamond cutter as I travel up your legs
Slither my way through your chest and leave my insignia on your neck, before returning to your lips
Oh darling I know I’m being greedy but if the outside is this outstanding
I struggle to comprehend what awaits me inside the grey matter
Let me sync with you my empress, let your inspiration and creativity pour into me
Just a second of exposure to that mind of yours, will lighten my entire life

Oh even if you choose to desert my shores this time tomorrow
And shoot for the stars you were clearly born to grasp in your hands
I’ll spend a lifetime in ecstasy, no matter how grey the skies will get
Just a second of nostalgia with my valentine, the silver will beam through the clouds
But if you ever decided that this lowly peon could be your man
I’d transcend to a state of a mind, that unfortunate mortals could never reach

Dedicated to B.B

The Valentine No Show (W.I.P)

My eyes they dry like a Sunday morning washing line
My lungs press together with a vice of your presence
I’m struggling to stay alive, just walking to your door
The body’s willing but their’s no air
I’m gasping on the floor it’s to much to bare!
The grip on my fingertips is starting to weaken
The choke on my glands is getting righter
The blood in my hands is getting thinner

But the thrill of young lovers can be deceiving indeed
We met both strategically clad in our battle armour
Ready to wage war like a DVD cover of a 80’s road flick
And yet we act like business men, handing out contact details
To arrange a transaction which we feel could benefit our brands
While you tend to your needs, I’ll play happy couples

I think it’s easy to claim you’d lay in wait on my sofa
On the frost bitten evenings, to stroke my scalp
To unplug the scalelectrix whirling around in my brain
When i’m tracing the stairway to heaven on your navel
And sending your eyes away to the back of your skull
If I held it all for ransom, would you still come back to help me?

I’ll allways be your best man, the one your ashamed to admit
That you think about when your future homeowner misses the mark
But you can never be anymore then a charity case to me girl
As I sit starting at the walls on the hill of the roller-coaster
Where will you be when I howl into the night asking for your love?
Would you be anywhere if I couldn’t offer a surge in return?
Would you be somewhere else when someone can do it better?
I know you wouldn’t my sweet, and I know that’s your right

Looks like I won’t be seeing around this St. Valentines
I know I wouldn’t, and I know that’s your bloody right