There was once a girl with a fear of mirrors.
A fear so frightening,
it followed her round wherever she went.
Zombie films were fine
and spiders didn't bother her,
she would have happily seen a ghost
and the dark was her best friend.
But the mirror haunted her.
"Look at yourself..."
it would whisper,
"Fat,
ugly,
baby face,
crooked teeth..."
Even in bed,
when night veiled it's reflection,
it spoke.
The duvet over her head wasn't much of a shield,
the voice taunting her,
ringing in her ears,
until she woke up,
a sticky, writhing mass in the middle of the matress.
"Good Morning."
The day time was no better.
Shop windows acted as put-me-up mirrors,
cutlery in cafes the same.
There was a solution to walking in the day time,
head down,
head down,
head down,
don't make eye contact,
head down,
but a rogue puddle could stop her in her tracks.
Her watercolour reflection swam menacingly on it's surface,
the voice rising dreamily from it like a mermaid speaking under water.
But she'd take a whole city of puddles
if she could avoid the carnival of horrors that was shopping for clothes.
There,
no matter where she stepped,
mirrors of all shapes and sizes would spring from corners,
the reflections getting redder
and uglier
and sweatier
and more pathetic
each time she span into a new one,
pretty,
thin,
popular girls preened themselves in the corner of her eyes,
friends with the mirrors.
She could hear the voice speaking to them,
but it's words were kind and friendly.
Looking down made no difference as mirrors adorned the floors,
up the same,
the ceiling a funfair nightmare of crazy mirrors,
the whole shop a kaleidoscope of her disgusting,
repulsive,
loathsome face.
She couldn't even cry.
The fear was so great,
that she couldn't risk seeing a reflection in one of the tears.
Even her sorrows mocked her.
The only way was to bottle it up,
to smile,
act like nothing was wrong,
look in her bag when her friends were looking in the mirror,
close her eyes at the hairdressers,
throw a sheet over her own, hateful mirror.
Throw a sheet over herself.
Nobody could hurt her if she didn't let them in.
One day,
the girl smashed the mirror in her room.
She grabbed a shoe and struck it with such force,
that the awful face before her splintered
and crashed to the floor in a thousand pieces.
When she looked down,
hundreds of dark eyes blinked back at her.
It's shell still remained hanging on the wall,
a black rectangle that looked like it could be a portal to another world.
She could still see herself in it.
She shut her eyes and squeezed them hard,
but the mirrors were behind her eyelids,
printed onto her brain,
painted onto her pupils.
The mirror was inside her.
The girl was now a looking glass of self-loathing.
The voice whispered inside her head.
"Just look at yourself.
Look at yourself,
look at yourself,
look at yourself,
LOOK."
She realised she would never be able to escape the mirrors.
She realised that she would smash herself into nothing but broken glass if she didn't just
look.
So she did.
As each day went by,
with every new mirror that crept up on her,
she looked inside it,
looked at herself.
The first time sweat beaded and dripped down her neck
and her hands shook.
She thought she would faint,
thought she was going to run,
thought she wouldn't do it,
but she did.
She looked.
She kept looking for a long time,
scrutinsing her every feature until she realised,
it wasn't that bad.
She looked,
until eventually,
as time passed by,
she managed to smile.
Until eventually,
whenever she closed her eyes,
the mirrors on her lids nodded "You'll be okay.".
Until eventually,
the fear wasn't so scary anymore.
Until,
eventually,
she let herself cry.
And she wanted to see herself in the tears.
There was a once a girl who liked mirrors.

they lived
like the only customers at a funfair;
weeks caroselling
with swollen rise and fall,
like the horses forgot
to gallop in circles.
they had their own world
of haunted houses
and helter-skelters
but the stalls were all out
of candyfloss
and, as they slotted coins
into cork-rifles,
they shot themselves
to pieces
without winning
a single prize.

I wear stupid glasses unlike her
Teardrops are my own makeup
Looking at you is my dose
I just wanna be with you so close

I wear oversize shirts incomparable to her
She wears tight jeans and lovely corsets
I walk through the dirtiest streets at night
She sways and enjoys her princess life at bright

I roll over my untidiest bed
She amazes everyone with her lips at red
I glaze the road with my unfixed hair
She roams the cities and turns it to a funfair

I could not do all of that
I could not even give you what you want
This feeling is only what I got
I said it through this poem 'coz I can't be blunt

I am afraid to tell you everything
You are my best friend and you are my everything
Why are you so numb of what I am feeling?
Is it because I am not what you are dreaming?

If only I could be that girl
But I can not.
Because I just wanted to be me
The girl who slowly kills herself
The girl who keeps on pretending
That she loves seeing you happy with that luckiest girl

Music is in the air at the gleaming funfair,
With the moon and sun there celebrating cheery.

There are millions of streams under the signs of gleams,
Following the night's dreams with curiosity.

Shining are the bright lights, throughout the depths of nights,
Offering many sights as a sweet luxury.

They are shooting like stars, the luxuriant cars,
Along the shiny bars and each murky alley.

Now it's time of the dawn; off are lights of neon,
Lets celebrate Gihon, instead of poetry!

The stars they soar
As your smile it shoots through my veins
Demolishing the remains
Of previous trespassers
And the imprints they left.
You brush away soiled footprints
With one swift kiss
Placed delicately on my lips
And in an instance,

I am cherry cola bottles,
Cotton candy, funfair rides
Without a care in the world
I am racing down slides
With you i am ebbing with the tides,
Not against.
I am nights on the town,
A princess with a crown,
A smile, not a frown,
I don't drown today
All because you say
You love me.

I am floating
Floating high, high as a kite
I am amongst the stars and beyond
There is no need for a magic wand
To make my dreams come true
They are all embedded in you.

Chemistry pulsates between us
Two women from Venus.
The looks we exchange put to shame
Any love sonnet or story
You call my name
And angels sing
The joy you bring
Unexplainable.

With you I am strong
There is no matter of right or wrong
With you I belong
I am the most beautifully
Constructed piece of literature, song.
With you I am alive,
And living
This love your giving
Oh this love your giving
Could feed thousands.
With you I am complete
And there is no need to compete
For satisfaction
Because with you I am always satisfied
With you I am ebbing with the tide
Not against it.

You are the fight I swore I had ran out of
Months ago
You are the sheer beauty, purity and excitement
Of glistening snow
And I know wherever I go
You will follow.
You are the gentle breeze
The moments I seize
With both hands
And tie tightly to my heart
Every day is a fresh start.
You don't weigh me down,
You lift me up,
With you I stand on mountains
I drink from fountains
I laugh and smile
And for awhile
I am me,
The me I always sought to be.

And though the sands of time
Sift peacefully between us
Your grasp it tightens
There is no need to be frightened.

There is a reason for everything
You are,
My reason for existing,
A ring, a promise.
Safe and sound,
Til the ground parts us.
We shall be partners.
In crime, worlds at a time
We dance, our romance
Something that could never be crammed into words
Or wrapped up in poetry
For we,
You and me.
Are infinite, eternal.
And what we share
Indescribable.
You will always be my first and final
Love.

Love, love, love
I love you.

beauty roused the world from slumber
took it by the hand and danced it to freedom
on a merry go round and funfair full of-
candy and apples- the laughter of forgiven children
can now be heard throughout all creation

I guess it was the acid
Frying your brain
You thought you'd just try it
For the thrill, start to drill
In my membrane

I must admit, I starved for it

But alas you pass on by
Leaving only footprints behind

And though I've always known
When rolling dices made of stone
To count those blessings I'll always have
So losing ain't that bad

And on this cycle goes
Keep racing on this very road
In search of ways to fill a hole
The bottomless pit of my soul

Beware this trickster, out to bewitch
She crawls into your bed and it makes you itch
Dim-lit may be my lanterns
Imagination figments
Accompany, me in my sleep
Willing suspension of disbelief

I had it coming
My snow blankets are melting
Your garden's disappointing
As are you Sir Dementor
I see now you're grey and decayed
Not worth a single cent paid
Fungi verses my bouquet
In Some Unholy War

I guess it was the acid
Frying your brain
You thought you'd just try it
For the thrill, start to drill
In my membrane

I must admit, I starved for it

But alas you pass on by
Leaving only footprints behind

And though I've always known
When rolling dices made of stone
To count those blessings I'll always have
So losing ain't that bad
And on this cycle goes
Keep racing on this very road
In search of ways to fill a hole
The bottomless pit of my soul

Well yes I know of the animal
In me a smothering towel
Bursting at the seam with fever
For an artist unobserved
A false representation
I guess a mirror reflection
Of funfair loving children

Now in my veins desire
Is spreading like wildfire
But we're dead in the water
All life left on shore
Warnings so deafening
Have broken all of our strings
Shelter from electrocuting
Of Some Unholy War

I guess it was the acid
Frying your brain
You thought you'd just try it
For the thrill, start to drill
In my membrane

I must admit, I starved for it

But alas you pass on by
Leaving only footprints behind

And though I've always known
When rolling dices made of stone
To count those blessings I'll always have
So losing ain't that bad
And on this cycle goes
Keep racing on this very road
In search of ways to fill a hole
The bottomless pit of my soul

A. G. R

I used to stand, dreaming
I could win that brown bear
Only takes three darts, top scores
To win, at the local fair.
Or a fish, I would have liked that
An orange thing in a plastic bag
Or hook-a-duck, a chance to win
Perhaps a new toy or wave a flag.
The smell of onions frying all day
Hot crispy potato skins enticing
The unmistakable aroma of doughnuts
With different kinds of icing.
The thrill and fear of the ghost train
With dangly things in your face
Screams, sighs, a creepy hand touching
I loved that very creepy place.
The helter skelter, skimming on a mat
Winding to the bottom with a smile
Then queuing for ages once again
Strangers in a single file.
The fair, money for this and that
Oh I wanted that teddy bear.
Eventually I got him, my new friend
Sitting there with his short brown hair.
A reminder of days when fun was fun
Screeches, screams and music very loud
They’d play the number one in the charts
To a very approving fun loving crowd.
So with my short lived fish in a bag
My bear and tummy full of candy floss
My pockets with no money just tissues
Smeared with onions and tomato sauce.
I’d head back home, looking over my shoulder
The lights, the atmosphere nothing can compare
Dodgems, rides that made you feel sick
But that’s ok at the local funfair.

Take me to the land of crystal rivers,
that glitter like a mirror for the gods.
Take me to the height for altruistic lords,
revered by the oppressed for being givers.
I dream of a world drowned in abundance
of joy infinite at its renaissance.
Where the warm rays of the tropical sun
soothe the pains of a bleeding wound by day.
Where nature entertains with so much fun,
like a funfair in the sweet month of may.
I smell the pleasant scent of flowers gay
pervading the plains of awe and wonder.
Where colourful fruits in season render
sweetness and nourishment at my behest.
Where the sun's showers of warmth dry each tear,
bringing to extinction, a world of fear
in this magnificent haven of rest.
I see a paradise for virgins fair,
devoid of blemish with their silky hair.
I see breath taking mountains clad in green,
where romantic love birds would find serene.
I see this world of beauty at its peak,
which all dreamers would relentlessly seek,
coming closer now to my possession
than any dream or imagination.

I used to stand, dreaming
I could win that brown bear
Only takes three darts, top scores
To win, at the local fair.
Or a fish, I would have liked that
An orange thing in a plastic bag
Or hook-a-duck, a chance to win
Perhaps a new toy or wave a flag.
The smell of onions frying all day
Hot crispy potato skins enticing
The unmistakable aroma of doughnuts
With different kinds of icing.
The thrill and fear of the ghost train
With dangly things in your face
Screams, sighs, a creepy hand touching
I loved that very creepy place.
The helter skelter, skimming on a mat
Winding to the bottom with a smile
Then queuing for ages once again
Strangers in a single file.
The fair, money for this and that
Oh I wanted that teddy bear.
Eventually I got him, my new friend
Sitting there with his short brown hair.
A reminder of days when fun was fun
Screeches, screams and music very loud
They’d play the number one in the charts
To a very approving fun loving crowd.
So with my short lived fish in a bag
My bear and tummy full of candy floss
My pockets with no money just tissues
Smeared with onions and tomato sauce.
I’d head back home, looking over my shoulder
The lights, the atmosphere nothing can compare
Dodgems, rides that made you feel sick
But that’s ok at the local funfair

Fanfares at the funfair for the children we took there and candy floss crème for the time in-between the dodgems and ducks.

Steinbeck played halfback on the quarterdeck of a cruiser,
not an enviable position, but they enhanced his pay and with two rations of *** every day he didn't really care.

Time jumps about when you're about to get down to the real business of living
I'm about to do that but I can't find the time.

Wild in our childhood we are savaged by our adulthood
what chance to have peace?
there is none.

It's a fashion to be
or it could be it was
I get lost in minutiae
and tend to shy away,
but only
because the side track is
my best side and my best side
is the side track
I'm on.

and anyone can learn how to drive.

I used to stand, dreaming
I could win that brown bear
Only takes three darts, top scores
To win, at the local fair.
Or a fish, I would have liked that
An orange thing in a plastic bag
Or hook-a-duck, a chance to win
Perhaps a new toy or wave a flag.
The smell of onions frying all day
Hot crispy potato skins enticing
The unmistakable aroma of doughnuts
With different kinds of icing.
The thrill and fear of the ghost train
With dangley things in your face
Screams, sighs, a creepy hand touching
I loved that very creepy place.
The helter skelter, skimming on a mat
Winding to the bottom with a smile
Then queuing for ages once again
Strangers in a single file.
The fair, money for this and that
Oh I wanted that teddy bear.
Eventually I got him, my new friend
Sitting there with his short brown hair.
A reminder of days when fun was fun
Screeches, screams and music very loud
They’d play the number one in the charts
To a very approving fun loving crowd.
So with my short lived fish in a bag
My bear and tummy full of candy floss
My pockets with no money just tissues
Smeared with onions and tomato sauce.
I’d head back home, looking over my shoulder
The lights, the atmosphere nothing can compare
Dodgems, rides that made you feel sick
But that’s okay at the local funfair.

Fear
So complete and so overwhelming;
Nothing else can be felt.

The room that surrounds me is too small
The white washed walls closing in
It is a cave from which I cannot see the mouth.
The darkness is engulfing me fast
The light is disappearing fast
It is a whirlwind of shadows and fading voices
The reality is blurring, in its place
A distorted nightmare stitches itself
Like black, thick treacle it slowly slides into my ear drum
A wild hyena laugh
It’s here.

The air is painfully thin.
Every withering gasp becomes shallower
My lungs are shrinking
They are red balloons
Punctured by sharp, shining needles
Deflating, they push out the oxygen
Drawing in the black charcoal
My chest feels so heavy
The smoke suddenly solidifying
I can’t breathe.

I am trapped.
Isolated and alone
My body a steel prison
I lie helplessly on its foreign, metallic floor
The cold cuts into me
My bones freezing over slowly,
I can’t move.

The ice is a barrier between me and the outside
Carving the figures into unfamiliar shapes
I do not know this place
I am a child lost in a funfair.
The world clumsily stumbles in front of me
A million joyous colours and noises bleeding together
Forming one screaming siren
It yells “PANIC, PANIC, PANIC”
A rhythmic repeating chant
Blaring and bright
I’m drowning in its wails.

My body jitters like an old wood coaster
Jerking, swaying under a heavy weight
I try to stop it but it is out of my control now
The cart has left the station

The hyena laugh again trickles into my ears
Growing louder and louder
It morphs into a crazed clowns cackle
Howling at my failed attempts
My palms start to shake,
They cling to my arms as I rock back and forth
Trying desperately to make it stop
Why won’t it stop?
Why won’t it end?

My heart starts to speed
Beating so fast, it hammers against my glass ribs
It is deafening.
Like footsteps pounding the pavement
Running crazily to try escape
Terrified of the monster cowering over its shoulder
Painted face, disguised, its screeches surround me.
I trip and fall, knees grazing and legs shaking
I cry like a little girl to her mother
“Make it stop”, I whimper.
The monster towers over me.

From aside me, an arm leans into my cave.
It whips off the monsters mask.
Nothing is there.

Today I met a jet boat named Desire
Killing time on the docks, crimson like cherry wine
It's been telling me of the corrupted youth

That nothing has ever been the same
Since they tore down the funfair park
Where we made a pilgrimage each night
To bury our most desperate loves

Now we all have a lover waiting at the bar
They steal kisses from strangers for fun
But Desire says he's been dismissive lately
Of sand devils and kindred spirits
Says there is no illness as stubborn
as the pursuit of company

The funfair on Sunday
and who's going to pay?

Her ex beaus post photos
I don't think that's fair,
and she in a state of undress
couldn't care less.

He's not an angel
unless it's a fallen one

another memory wipe

swipe your card
falling's not hard
it's the climbing back

and I've climbed up mountains
swam oceans
drank potions, but the
fountain of youth never
gave me the truth,
old, be it
magic or not
I did the lot.

so
who's for the ghost train?

I want to see what the
butler never saw.