You’re always in the pub.
She’s always at home.
Watching her life pass on her own.
You’re always six pints drunk.
She learns to live with it.
Figures her life will always be shit.
You’re aways with your mates.
She’s got not friends to call.
Trapped. A prisoner in four square walls.
She’s taught herself to paint.
Something to fill her time.
She likes it, quietly, sketching line by line.
She’s joined some local artists.
Sneaks out when you’re not there.
They love her and her work, they really seem to care.
She’s getting better every day.
Puts a painting up for sale.
Waits and worries nervously, doesn’t want to fail….
She’s sold so many pictures.
A local celebrity.
You’re still drinking down the pub, where you’ll always be.
She knows the time is now.
Last look at her once home.
Knows you’ll come back to darkness, and a life alone.
She’s shaken off your shackles.
She left and shut your door.
Successful, beautiful, the world to live for.
I bury my head,
Wrap my body in tangled sheets.
Hold the cold pillow close.
They’re not the same.
It’s your arms I want,
Your body I crave.
Your kisses I’d die for.
Please come home.
I don’t like living all alone.
Soaking the small of your back.
Breath comes short, hard
And dry as the dust
Kicked up with every downward step.
Loose rocks scatter, spiral
Hammering as hard as your heart.
Grasp parched grasses,
Track turns to pebbles turns to
The smell of salt,
And a thousand shades of turquoise.
All the skies, lakes, rivers, seas.
Of all the endless blues.
Of all the long, long endless blues
You’re so hot you make me drool boy
Make me act like a fool boy
Those baby blues and lazy smile boy
I love your laid back kinda style boy
I dream about you all the while boy
You’re so handsome and so tall boy
Are those shorts a size too small boy?
I can kinda see it all boy…
Are those abs made of steel boy?
Are they even real boy?
I think I need to check and feel boy…
I’m nearly breaking all the rules boy
I need something to make me cool boy
I need to get in that pool boy…
You would have loved the sky.
Round the corner, by the old stone bridge
And it stretched for miles.
You’d have gasped, pulled out your sketchbook
And sat a while, rapt,
Brush in hand,
In love with nature.
So many blues.
Cornflowers mixed navy,
A thousand hues.
Purples, gentle lavender
To ripening plum.
Yellows, a golden light,
Bright through lemon clouds.
And all shades of grey,
Winter fighting a summer’s day.
I can’t do it justice,
Can’t paint with words.
I wish you were still here.
aiming for the light.
but you’re holding on tight.
Stop riding backwards.
It’s your time
and your time is right.
loosen your hold.
The future’s bright.
The I don’t have to work hard I’ll stick it on my credit card generation.
The there is no work – not trying to shirk generation.
The notice me, notice me, look how famous I want to be generation.
The 45 kids to a class and exams to try and pass generation.
The I think I’m owed it – don’t really give a shit generation.
The parents on the dole, living in a hole generation.
The I want to have it now, don’t care how generation.
The kids to food banks to eat, no shoes on their feet generation.
The I’m full of piercings, full of ink and I don’t care what people think generation.
The forgotten, the poor, nothing to aim for generation.
Cut the benefits again and again,
drive the underclass out, get rid of the shame.
But it’s all a manner of spin and perception –
so take a moment before looking in just one direction.