I write when I can’t sleep:
Sitting leisurely next to a yawning window to whom
Ajar I drink the pitch-navy sky;
Gurgling the trinket stars and pearl moon
That spill a pale wash of light caught in the sinner-city streets…
My friends say: “I come alive in the night time!”
(Interesting, observation don’t you think?)
That is to say, if I’m not drunk Or too high out of my mind,
I am what a walking corpse would look like if it went about
His days; Wallowing in the muck, shadow-boxing with his demons
Afraid. Lonely.Socially awkward.
Waiting, for the day to reach curtain call and the sky…
The sky to draw in the dark drapes against the evening bleeding sun.
“All the animals come out at night” said the taxi driver
Even the suicidal poet who finally gets to where the mask of the man he so often paints In his poems,
see -I’ve asked my friends, how many hours of my, life have I lost blacked out at the back seat
Of a car racing to wherever the night takes us;
Ready to crash daddy’s Benz for the third time this month;
Smash in those pins at ATM’s;
The beer splashing against the walls of our guts;
Cashing in for front row tickets to watch our own self-destruction
It looks fun from afar doesn’t it?
But come close, you can almost see the cracks , the scars, The ashes…
Of all those hearts I left broken,
Those nights spent in jail;
Those morning-after abortion pills;
Those moments, I got dragged out of parties
My fist in the air choking a cigarette
I Am scared…
That I’m nineteen years old, and it’s not quite clear
That I’ll reach twenty-one, but
F*ck it, I’m young right?
Pass the rum, because I can damn near stomach anything-
Acid rain, sulphur tears, oil spills, chemical waste
Drowning out the sewers of my liver
Until I piss out my pain down the edge of a balcony
Stagger back into a party, to whom I know nobody’s name-
Their faces wearing pantomime smiles like clowns:
FAKE. FAKE. FAKE.
But I am not one to complain
I am the worm my friends press against a hook like Bait for fish;
my face gets girls -And the woman, hey, they never say no
Random hickies like bruises on my skin
They love to see my ruins. My addictions.
Watch me fall to pick the pieces of this rockstar image
Nibbling at my ear and whispering something
Obscene, whilst I pretend to listen,
Stirring at the monsters trapped in my glass of wine;
She swoons to kiss and
TAKE. TAKE. TAKE.
What do you want from me?
“Just a little taste” she says…
I gave it to her alright
The other day she sent me a text asking why I didn’t call
I didn’t reply of course…
I was doing her a favour after all.
– Ghost
