The narcissist trap

I stare at my phone screen

dreaming, scheming

I need constant attention

what a wonderful invention

I need likes and comments

I can write sonnets

to myself

in my Instagram posts

I can puff my chest and boast

but all my dreams are toast

I am narcissus staring at my reflection

on further inspection

I only love myself

and this phone is an extension of me

I shouldn’t choose to die

but this life is self absorbed lie.

Just thoughts

Thoughts

Thoughts should fill my mind

but I am blind.

my words just hot air

and my tears just water

I sink beneath the autumn leaves

I am just caught here.

my sentiments just cliches

my ideas yesterday views

the true artists leave me

they pick apart my clues

My brain just wreckage

my poems just spoken

all thats left of me is shopping carts

and Tesco’s tokens

My wages are benefits

My unemployed gains

I am picking apart the drains

for my blood stains

everything I do

I haven’t even got a clue…

Her gardner’s hands

Time may pick her locks

moths eat her frocks

and her splendid looks may fade

but she will still hold my heart

like the spark of her voice

hangs like an echo in the Everglades

in Elysium fields her flowers grow

Only the roses know

the gardeners hands

we nurture the voice we want to hear

even if it is the one we fear

we grow all of what we know

I loved her so

but I was fearful of losing

the ghost of her out of my head.

For if I lose her voices dulcet tone

I will be truly left alone…

End of Era

Records and tapes

times that were great

when mobile phones didn’t exist

or were brick like

we went on hikes

long walks

football games in the park

until it got dark

we played board games

and weren’t board

hero quest and chess

Droughts snakes and ladders were the best

Rubiks cubes

Ice pop tubes

frozen lollies

going to the beach

with a brolly

being active roly polys

watching 4 TV channels

going to grans who always had the radio on

feeding the ducks and swans

with my Mum

Dad taught to ride a bike

without stabilisers

play fighting with siblings what could go wrong?

feeling invincibly strong

and a feeling of hope

the future wouldn’t be a joke

and it was the end of era

a 80s child a 90s young man

somethings you have to experience to understand.

Clown huntress

The circus mirrors gives her the shivers

Her lips begin to quiver

She hates clowns

and her frown

turns into bestial snarl.

her cheeks flash red

all she can think of is blood instead

and meat

Which she wants to eat

as her hairs stand on end

and are caught by electric instincts

her teeth become sharp and canine

and eyes shine an unnatural shade

as her body begins to rearrange

her spine tingles

her coccyx sprouting out of behind

A now wagging tail

Her feet bursting through her dainty shoes

her arms begin to flail

she is in shock but somehow it feels right

those clowns will get it

they will not live to regret it

growling at the mirror at her reflection

her skirt tearing at the seams

full moon screams turning into growls

then a howl

As her body is exposed

this is what the crystal ball

and fortune teller said

“when the moon becomes blood red

you will see what you are in the distorted mirrors and be fed”

As she smashes the mirror

drool dripping from her tongue and teeth

the werewolf released

from her human cage

to rage against those foolish clowns.

When Facebook…

When Facebook is filled with memes

broken pictures and shattered dreams

when you respond with a haha like

but no one recognises your plight

when they are too busy finding out their character is that of a potato

and you get ignored but don’t hate though

when they share posts like who would narrate your life

and you want to get out of that conversation because it probably be piers Morgan and his wife

remember you chose to live on Facebook and be a troll

and life is out your door and off your phone which is sucking away your soul.

War on myself (reverse poem try number 2)

In the war on myself

Its my dreams that matter

compassion is a choice

I choose to believe or is it that a lie?

In my 30 years or so of life has always been a battle

But my dreams matter

and that “Once upon a time” is a land where my heart exists

But unless I grasp at my ideals I will never reveal

What people think of me

I do love me

In the future I will still take myself to task

It will be clear that I may fail

only fools presume I don’t have the strength to go on.

NOW READ BOTTOM TO TOP.

Centrefold

Are you as warm and inviting as your picture?

your eyes inciting, emotion

yet a photo is cold to touch

as offers so little, not as much

as a warm hand

and a offer to understand.

You demand attention

with your style and made up grace

But i long to touch a real face

and place my lips on hers

but am not sure

that you’d like me if we met

chances are you and I would regret

see life and love are built on tender moments of time

spent drifting into conversation

not living in frustration

of meeting a lingerie clad model

life is not that kind of movie

But feel free to prove me wrong

with a character to match those looks

maybe I should just keep my head in my books

what could I offer you

but my dreams and poetry all the while

after all I struggle for style and grace

and where your face is pretty

I am ugly and with a worn out smile.