I am scattered human being,
with fragments of emotions
that fall and scar at unexpected moments.

I am difficult to deal with,
trust me I know.
One minute I am on a high
the next I'm mumbling nonsense while
scrapping pieces of paper
searching for the one piece that holds all the answers.

Our house is a heap of half written words
and letter to myself
each a note of remembrance
of a thought that I once had -

I know I cradle this paper-mess
like they were a child that grew within me,
in a way they were
they are my creations, my imagery.

I forget the simplest things
like today was my day to clean
or that tomorrow we are supposed to go to dinner
but I am so lost in my thought-process.

Please don't be disheartened
by my chaos-mess
or how I seem to care little,
because I write all these for you.

With each waking word
these are fragments of my soul
my innermost thoughts
and my deepest love for you.

So I am sorry that I seem distracted
but I am so full of love,
that I wish the world understood
how you are the most perfect God-creature
that has ever lived.

I'm in the game now
and there's only one way out
there's victory or your downfall
and they're a hungry crowd.

They scream for your survival
and throw rose petals at your feet
until the buzzing leaves
and you realise they are screams of hate.

There's no backing down
I'm in the game to survive,
the odds aren't in my favour
and few want me to survive.

The others have trained for this
for their whole exhausting life
I'm the secret
the only thing between them and feat.

I'd tremble in the corner
were I given the time.
Help! They're gonna eat me alive

I can feel my heart beating -
the only way of knowing if I'll survive this fight -

A jaded cackle escapes my lips
as you nodded "puppet head" in my direction.
With a quizzical brown you questioned
the paint upon my face, and the purpose of it.

A tiredness overwhelmed my body
suddenly fatigued by the plight
of continually having to explain oneself
and armor ones choice from a misunderstanding world.

Compare me to a puppet doll if you wish,
the opinions you will draw of me based upon my face
fathom me little.

I paint my face for me, and only me
spending much time fussing over which shade of berry
suits my mood and attitude of how to tackle this dreary world today.

When I was a small child
while sentences were still new
and each day offered something previously unexplored
I stepped upon a spider.

I felt the crunching of its body
as its legs became detached,
a chilling feeling crept upon my spine
as the extent of the damage I had done was revealed.

I silently wept myself to sleep
and for many nights after that,
my failed attempts at resurrection
only added to my guilt.

We had a quiet service
where I spoke some words
of this misplaced spider
and his fallen world.

Now the chilling feeling creeps upon my spine
when my empathy is vacant
and I can all but care,
that feelings crawls around me
clinging to my skin
a sickening reminder
of sweet children's care.

I can hear the clock ticking
In the corner of this mundane room.
It smells half of hospital,
Half of rotting flowers and you.
A sad pre emtative truth.

That horrible ticking noise
Grows louder!
Demanding to be heard,
While silently smirking that it can be.
You lay hear dying
And it is a silly old clock we listen to.
Its ticking quickens
As your heart slows.

They will want me to speak
After you go.
I should ask you now what it is you would have me say,
But you seem more engrossed in the packet of Marlboro reds, perhaps your last ever.

Still everyone deserves kind words
At their funeral,
Not that I have any to say
And you made sure there would be nobody else left on your behalf who would speak.
I am afraid the liquor cannot thank you
For the years you drained on it.

Perhaps I could tell them of the time
When I was still young enough to have ***** finger nails and grazed knees
And I fell - tumbling to the ground with such force tears welled in my eyes and soon I was screaming out your name.

You came to my rescue, like the Knight I thought you were.
You patched me up good and took me for food.
I could tell them how this evening was my favourite with you, and how I am sorry that I lost this to liquore.

As I my mind returns to the place at hand,
And I consider telling you this
That horrible ticking ceases to exist,
Taking you with it.

Brush your teeth!
Brush your hair!
Fix your dress -
No no! That's not what you were told to wear.

Clean your bedroom,
Dust the stairs!
Mop the kitchen!
Careful, clean with care!

I thought I told you
To buy new towels?
We can't hang out these rags,
They'll think us fools!

There is dust on the cupboards
This just won't do!
Where is the good China?

For goodness sake we will have to start anew!

I wish I could put
Plasters on my soul,
Like I put lipstick
On my lips.

A finite "quick fix"