109

109
One hundred and nine
That would have been lovely.

1009
One thousand and nine
Definitely do-able.

10,009
Ten thousand and nine
Scary but a climbable mountain.

109,000
One hundred thousand
With Nine thousand
Odd figures not included
(at this stage).

100k
Just meaningless figures
On a page of
An unknown life
By an unknown man
Who lives with me?

100k
One hundred thousand pounds
Struck heavily, pulverized
Into months and years
of debt that
I don’t know
I never knew
But should have.

100,000
One hundred thousand
Building daily by interest
Accrued by institutions
Who neither know nor care
About me.

23,400
Seconds sitting in crowded waiting
Rooms hopeful for advice
And praying for salvation.
Avoiding others eyes
Wondering.

100,000
times
Are they as bad as us?
Are they fucked too?
Are they as old,
As tired, as desperate,
And probably homeless
As me.

Mog

Blocked

There’s a space in my head that’s aching to be heard
an echoing want that fills my nostrils
with the bitter flavour of ineptitude.

A freezing silence follows when my mind fears to tread,
in a space so personal that my throat constricts my body heaves
and waves of inertia brake off my bow.

I am an open sore oozing my stagnant creativity
over the world, a grotesque monument to my own cowardice.
I slink into the shadows of a mundane existence

hoping like hell the small part that feels like home
will not desert me because of its under-use
and my abhorrence of well earned attention.


This is just a little something right out of my head. Not great I know but it says something about how I feel right now. Any comments would be good.


JC

Poo in my Pants

I have poo in my pants.
It's that brown persistent
skiddy that comes
from ineffective bottom
wiping.

Why does it always
happen when I wear
white underwear?
Or is it just not
noticeable on my black
ones.

Guess the only answer
is the sniff test.

Three Cherries

The Morning After

My craving lasted all of two minutes. As the warm liquid flowed down my throat I knew I had made a mistake. The toxic concoction hit my stomach and it convulsed instantly. My body heaved its contents back up to my throat feeling more sinister than it had on the way down. I made it to the sink just in time to revisit my bad flavour combination on the stainless steel surface, splashing minute droplets up the sides I would have to rinse away later. The sight of my own vomit set off another chain of heaving that retrieved leftover food I did not remember eating.

It was the last time I would let Dave pay his rent in weed.

The kitchen was a blur of light spots on my vision as the convulsions slowed to a stop and I sank to the floor. The cool tiles felt good against my bare legs and I wondered how much better they would feel on my face.

I lay my head to rest gently on the cold hard surface of the tile and momentarily shut my eyes. The smooth surface felt magical against my skin. The hard unyielding surface let my cheek meld to its form its resistance reassuring against my unsteady body. Its strength made me vulnerable, fragile somehow. It felt as though someone could come along and squash me like a bug against its surface and not leave a dent. They could pound my head repeatedly against its unyielding surface until my vision blurred into nothing. Or had that happened already?

JC