Burnt Into the Face of Memory

It seems

I’ve bigged myself

up to a point

that I can’t see

the line

between ego

and insanity

I wrote because

something punched me

in the gut

I wrote because

of love

and now

now I write the

same things





I’m burnt out

wax sticking to my hand like glue


I should switch off

the light

smoke a joint

and forget who I am

for a week. 


I let it come 

I opened up my arms

and let it come 

It was no surprise 

to feel it there

there below my ribs 

an unexplained hunger 

of the purest kind

I let it

I welcomed it

I refused its longing 


I took it fully 

a dead weight 

within my arms 

pulled me back down

to it

to this

I let it come 

I opened up my arms 

begged for its approval 

and in the darkest

peak of night

I cried out for another 

only to realise 

there was no one left.