Hide

 What you need?

Another half. 

Shits and giggles, 

And everything is fuk it, 

It is a problem I'll deal with tomorrow. 

Trying to feel better. 

Just so much hurt. 

Sure we'll cry about it tomorrow. 

And hide the hurt. 

Monday you

 You're a poet and we all know it.

But fuk me,

I've work tomorrow

And can't be bothered,

To work out

Is this a suicide note,

A poem,

Or a riddle for buried treasure

Or just a woe is me.

Will you be hanging from a tree

Or a message laughing manically?

No chill isn't good on a Monday.

Headlights

Rabbit in your headlights,

Hypnotized by the spotlight, 

Mouth dry and not a clean glass in sight. 

Bank balance in the red, 

And a restful sleep won't be tonight. 

But still something keeps you out. 

Monday will come 

With noise and bright lights. 

Sore back and nose that

Keeps running with no tissue in sight.

And all the time I look like a

Rabbit in your headlights,

Counting down my time

In the spotlight.

Bed is so far,

And my stomach still doesn't feel right. 

Taxi

 Born slipping,

The sun is coming up,

And the birds are starting to sing.

“Time to go home"

They sing and I agree,

But I'm locked in and too paranoid

To leave the party.

What if they all hate me?

If I go they'll all slabber and berate me.

Does everyone really hate me?

Eyes wonder and look back

To the last few cigarettes in the pack.

The beer flavourless and over fizzy.

"OK, can someone order me a taxi?"

Alcohol and drugs

Want me to save the world 

I don't understand.

How can you expect this of one man?

Holding on to everything with sore hands.

I wish I could be a kid again 

And forget the things 

That left me scarred and sad.

The fear of growing up with out a dad.

The conflict of a mother's jealousy.

The suffocating shyness.

The feeling of being wrong.

Just for the things you love

To be taken away

And the things you shared,

Now you hold on to them alone.

The loneliness grows as you get old.

Your world gets smaller.

Less handshakes and hugs.

Less understanding,

And more alcohol and drugs. 

The time you lost

Yolo,

But it still hurts, 

Try to unwind, 

But that isn't how my mind works. 

No chill, 

I find hard to sleep. 

Friday I could do with a early night. 

But I can't help following

The self destructive needs. 

The hours past quick, 

And the high never lasts.

And I lie when anyone asks,

"how are you?"

For what would being honest do?

What do I have to prove?

The trick is not to get obsessed

With all the times you lose. 

The mind

 I couldn't even trust myself. "what

do you mean?" 

she asks.

Ther is so many answers,

and yet none I can explain to her. 

See the worse thing about genius, 

Is we tend to want to destroy

ourselves, self destruction is a release from our minds. 

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