INVISIBLE BLUE PLAQUES

Someone or other
lived & died here.

Some other someone
wrote their most

famous work
there.

Every so often
a blue plaque informs us

as we journey
through town

(rain falling down)    

of Blah Blah
who blah’d & blah’d here

or was
blah’d there

... who cares?

In my mind
I ***** invisible
blue plaques

to commemorate
us.

Here: we kissed
(did we not?)    
...a mere minute ago.

Here: we turned
& laughed

on the corner of this everyday
road.

Here: we laughed
& hugged

on a pedestrian crossing

(a pedestrian
crossing)    

whistling at our
ardour

a taxi honking
at our armour.

All over London
our invisible
blue plaques

commemorate
us

&
that

we once
passed this way

so deeply
in love.

Who is this person that I’m living alongside;
I don’t mean my girl; I mean myself.
Is there an alter with impeccable timing to hide;
a thought I think and feeling I’ve always felt.

She digs her hands into my armored flesh,
the areas I reassured could pass each test.
Instead of titanium she sees it’s made of mesh,
“I’m sorry that I’m not the best of best.”
We watched our house burn down
watched the last ember hit the ground.
I place missing posters of myself around town;
truth is I don’t care if I get found.

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
On your clean white blouse;
gasoline has been doused.
I wrongly take the blame,
and they keep saying it’s my name.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?

Sometimes I feel like I’m presented as an open book,
with torn out pages and a cracked spine.
On full display but no one even stops to take a look,
missing the hidden message in each line.

We shoot the **** so incredibly breezily
but I’m reminded that I bruise very easily,
so I find a way to tap out without anyone noticing.
But it’s done just too feebly.
Burned bridges and scorched earth,
my decision to cover with AstroTurf.
Taking lives instead of giving birth,
and I’ll only strive to make it worse.

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
“The screams and the shouts
show us what you’re about.”
The beast I try to tame,
but can hardly even maim.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?

I have this habit of never learning my lesson
and sometimes almost crashing my car.
It’d be tragic or it could be a hidden blessin’
what’s another addition of a scar?

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse”
“We’ll turn you into scouse,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
“A pox on your house,
but not on your spouse.”
At least they aren’t that rouse.

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
On your clean white blouse;
gasoline has been doused.
I wrongly take the blame,
and they keep saying it’s my name.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?

pretty as a penny, she never thought any
one could love her for her worth
she listened to the lies told by her own eyes
making her wonder what it's all for

with nobody to love me she finds herself hungry
if only she could have the slightest of taste
thinks that's all she needs to get rid of these
feelings of lost and lonely days

she's done it all except for loving herself
seems to be the last thing she has tried
knowing she may not like the one that she finds
the girl behind the pretty smile

if lying was a crime she'd be guilty every time
when asked by friends how she has been
with perfect alibi she says that she's fine
then goes back to keeping her dark feelings in

where she steps up to bat with the voices in her head
that tell her she'll forevermore be alone
beautiful no doubt both inside and out
though sadly she may never know, giving up hope long ago

It's everybody's job.

Détente, rollback, middle-ground.

Working it until an internal weakness is found.

Surround the town with wire.

Eventually their voices will tire.

It does not work with fixed plans. It does not take unnecessary risks. Impervious to the logic of reason, and it is highly sensitive to the logic of force.

For this reason, it can easily withdraw—and usually does when strong resistance is encountered at any point.

staring at a screen
it says ‘bad gateway’
what does it mean?

I don't know
but I've seen this before
that's why I'm in
survival mode
it's gonna be okay
I'll just take the next road
left

writing poems...
in my head

I dreamt that I was working, putting in a hard shift
It was exhausting
When my alarm clock rang I was relieved
I thought it was the quitting time bell
But of course, when I opened my eyes
I found I had a whole day ahead of me, to live
I thought "This life it's trying to **** me
It ain't fair!
Hell! They hadn't even paid me for last night".