I’m done with my sighs,
These ever exhausting breaths,
All my restless nights,
Lead into endless days

My heart is weary,
Yet larger it still grows
It fractures bitterly my chest,
Cracks as fine as spiderwebs


Retitled : If truth be

And if truth be told,
As we all know it must
Beauty has grace
And poor love, is its folly

But Beauty must fade
Leaving but a ghost of grace
Grey and withered, Beauty’s champion
Now in steady decline

Love has none of this,
its companions saved of beauty’s decline
young forever, joyfully biding their time


I wrote this some time ago, and posted it at the end of another post. It always had a name, i just didn’t know it.

Dear London

Dear London

You are in my bones,

flowing through my blood,

weaved in my memories,

inhaled in every breath.

A Lover

A love letter to the capital – the city i call home, i love and hate in equal measure, sometimes both at the same time, sometimes one more than the other.


Its been a long time since I’ve put pen to paper ( or in this case fingertips to keyboard) to write out a post that didn’t have to do with something I’d found, saw or heard – Which is what makes this post somewhat different.

I don’t know how or what has changed exactly – but recently is seems things have truly changed.

Now if i were a regular person, this post would probably be about how I’ve been, for lack of a better word, somewhat ‘depressed’.

This post would also be about how I’ve come out of the other end a better person than before – With a new direction in my life, new drive and determination to succeed.

Sadly not so –  things are much the same as before ; I get up in the morning, slap the alarm clock on snooze (multiple times in the half hour it takes to wake me up) lean back into my warm bed, laying there, hidden in the twisted covers tangled between my legs, the fabric of my duvet brushing the hair on my legs in a different directions, eyes half closed, fighting the sliver of sunlight which i never manage to shut out even with my dark curtains.

My all consuming thought until a few ago weeks were bizarre – everything seemed utterly hopeless, and the hopelessness was a consuming rage (And i use rage in the very lightest sense of the word- there was nothing active as ‘rage’ going on)  and there wasn’t an activity, person, place or thing that didn’t seem futile.

At this point, i would like to stop and thank my friends and family. I’ve been a right little bitch to them, and im sorry – I simply saw no other way.

Which brings us to the present.

I think im learning to truthfully feel proper again.

Thats all for now.

If you’ve gotten this far, thanks for listening.


So im guessing that this 90 year old hasnt lived or experienced much eh?

Because im a lazy man, i wont go into detail, but pick the points that ‘spoke’ to me most, and generally mock them.. If you’re really interested, you can read the whole thing here

1. Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.

Wrong. Suicides, hate crimes, honour killings , mental illness, natural disasters, nuclear fallout, zombieapocalypse, cancer, AIDs, child abuse…. Do i need to go on?

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.

Into the gaping chasm of self doubt?
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

No it fucking isnt,

Actually, i give up here, because everything is futile in a world where fate has predetermined where shit will land.

Poetry in East London

Poetry in East London

Located on a wall near Shoreditch High Street Station – It reminds me of a Ted Hughes poem – Love Song – But strangely enough, it seems both a tribute and antonym for the work in its entirety..


By Ted Hughes

He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains

Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment’s brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was

Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin’s attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon’s gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall

Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop

In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage

In the morning they wore each other’s face

Shall We?

Shall we shake off our sadness,
And dispel this cloak of misery, and lift this veil of despair?
Let us gather in twilight and dance at dusk ?

Shall we gather around a fire ,
Drink wine – ruby red,
Swallow dark memories,
And take nothing but each other to bed?