KNACKERED

Lunchbreak.
He rises from his seat and walks away from his desk
heading out the office he avoids the lifts and taks the steps
Existing the building turning right
All the shops, cafe's, cash machine and pub, are on the left

A 5 minute walk to the park he finds a bench.
He takes his book Out of his bag and begins to write.
When he's not writing he recites.
Pacing up and down the perimiter of the park trying to get his words right.
He repeats this 5 days a week.
Monday to Friday.
Day in.
Day out.

He doesnt think he's better than anyone else.
He doesn't thnik he's special.
He's got nothing aaginst his collegues.
He likes them.
he envys them.
What he does think,
is that he doesnt expect them to undetstand.
Is that bad?

Not that there's anything wrong in...........

You know what?

This is bollox.

Treading over old ground.
Repeatedley.
Again,
and again.

I've been here.
Done this before.
On the same park bench.
2 years ago.
A thousand times.
Where's it going?

Ok.
I finally got to meet some really inspireing people.
Even made a few moves.
I feel like it's pushed me on.
A lot.
A hell of a lot,
and I'm gratefull.
Honestly.
Now though,
after a lot of post work grinding.
5 days a week.
Day in.
Day out.
The adrenline's gone.
The ideas have gone.
The spark has gone.
I'm completley knackered.

I'm still sitting on the same bench.
Writing the same tired self obsessed crap.
When I return back to my desk.
I know I've got a shit load of stuff to do.
I've fallen behind.
Again.
This time I don't have the energy.
The patience is gone.

All I'm left with is me.
My job.
Judgeing by the emails I get most days about stats
I'm edging ever closer to the sack.
The flat.
I don't even know who i'm living with now.
the revolving door policy has seen me live with 9 peoplle in 3 months,
at the last count.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

If I make myself I'll,
then at least I tried.

Sometimes I just wish I was normal

NOTE TO SELF

NOTE TO SELF

I left home to build a home that I can call my own
Devouring time I worry about money that I've blown
Booze, weed, clothes, food
Unessesary sun holidays sold on the promise of hordes of women,
when all i ever got was sun burn, food poisening and flashing cigarette lighters,
from a deaf, dumb and blind mute,
whilst eating some greasy English food,
I swear that dood could see

Home aint home anymore
Home belongs to Mum and Dad
they broke the bank and bust a gut to pay for that,
and it's theirs.
Proud owners and rightly so

Yea I've got a gaff but it's not home.
It's a bed to sleep, shower and a place to wash my clothes.
Occasionly I might cook something.
The flat isn't mine though.

I don't mind working 9 to 5,
then utlizing my time outside.
Well i do mind,
but I accept it's what I've gotta do.
The world owes me nothing.
I wanted to start something,
so i had to choose.

Feel numb or be someone.
Feeling numb is what I know.
Tring to be someone?
I've tried with a half commited heart,
and got a sore arse from sitting on the fence
I might as well give it a go - properely.

If I can be someone and make something out of myself,
then I can lay the foundation stone.
Start collecting the bricks and mortor.

Ever since I left home,
I've struggled to keep my head above the water so occasionly I lose hope.

Every now again life throws a new character.
Several if your lucky
I'm lucky.
One word or gesture with a nature of positivity,
can restore or unleash self beleif you never knew was there.
If you don't have hope, you won't get anywhere.
Sometimes hope's all you got.

If everything was easy then there would be no such thing as acheivement.

I've got to belive in what I'm tryiing to acheive.
Right now I'm talking like I've got my head firmely wedged in my arse,
so intravert I've become a collapsed star.

On occasion I need convincing of my own little missionn.
This is my reminder.
It's good for you to see.

I'm not trying to pluck a sympathy string,
I just want you to recognise the chord,
cos you might be me.
I know you can loose the faith and feel ignored.

KINGPIN

KINGPIN

For approximately 1 minute
I was king

The feeling as the ball rolled from my hand,
arrowing straight down the centre of the lane,
mantaining a position of perfection,
as it travelled at the speed of delight,
equal distance between the two gully's.

My own projectile missile,
Target locked on.
Upon Impact,
producing a harmonic sound of an organised crescendo of chaos,
as the ball struck the centre pin.
The catalyst for the chain reaction,
collapsiong all 10 pins.
Obliterated
Nothing left

That was my moment

I'd long ago accepted my position,
as issued by God.
My rank being verbal punchbag,
in the great order of things.

I'm the one you wonna play pool against,
after you've just taken a whipping.

Talk to me for an instant ego boost

My social scene is like a fruit machine
My mates are like the cherries,
always in pairs.
I'm the lemon.

I turned back round,
and saw my 3 friends,
and their girlfriends,
with their mouths open wide,
as if they were about to engage in speech,
but nothing was coming out.

I never knew silence could make a sound so beautiful

SATURDAY 30TH JANUARY


Another Monday afternoon
Sitting at my desk
Biting the spoon that feeds me
It's my teams shift to answer the phone

I'm pretendning to help the girl on the desk next to me
When really,
were both just making excuses,
to not answer the phone

Were currently in a very deep conversation,
about what jobs we used to have.
She tells me,
she used to work part-time in Mark One
I tell her,
I worked as a groundsman for an old school freind,
he was a tree surgeon.

"Becuase your a dick"

"Mate I've changed"

"na, I'm not having it. I don't wonna hang about with you no more"

Ended
12 or more years of freindship
No more.
Slammed the phone down like I,
cut the power from,
life support.
Sending 100,000 volts down the telephone chord

Standing in the hallway at Mum and Dad's.
Shaking.
Angry,
but still consious of other people in the house,
over hearing my conversation.
12 or more years,
no more.

I stare at my computer screen,
my screen stares back at me.
I'm not intrested in the information it has to offer.
I'm too busy,
going over the same of train of thought,
I go through at least once a week.
Sick of the commute.
In my head,
I'm still trying to justify,
the reasons why,
I ended the freindship.

Was I right?

Course I was.
I had too.
The lies.
I sometimes wonder if he even saw me as a mate,
or just a trusty sidekick,
who's powers were not as strong,
makeing him feel better about himself.
The lies.

The phone rings.
Again.
I answer it.
The person at the otherr end is angry.
I'm angry.
I've made myself angry.
Apprenetly,
I'm sending letters,
threatening to reposess this persons car.

I could hear his girlfreind in the back ground.
One of the many wrong-un's,
that used to occuppy,
the passenger side,
of his badly modified,
ragged to shit,
Fiat Punto.

Big key scratch down the driver sider.
The latest episode,
in some tit for tat spat,
he had,
with some other prick.
Dick swinging.
I told him he was gonna get kickin if he carried on.
And no matter how much he reved that car,
it was never gonna compensate,
for that part of his life,
where he felt small.
Pity the fool.

I take a payment from the person.
Holding off repossesion,
for another month.
My thought train contiunes,
doing loop the loops.
His train,
was off the rails.
Should I have stuck around,
till he was at least back on track?
Or was he always destined for that path?

I wonder if his family hold a grudge against me