We’re All Trying and That’s the Problem

I was thinking about-

perhaps a little too much

to be classed

as just a passing thought. 

I was thinking,

thinking about stopping,

stopping and giving in

to the knowledge 

of what I now know. 

I was,

going to do nothing,

as that seemed to be working-

nothing in the most

of my mind

could persuade me

to do so;

so, instead, I was

thinking about,

about doing something

with my life,

something that cannot be classed

as just a passing thought. 

I was thinking,

is it really worth it,


This, waking each morning 

and knowing that I may

go another day unnoticed. 

This, fumbling in my pockets for

nothing but the hope

of survival. 

This, putting it all on the line

for something, I’m still not sure

I can even do. 

I was thinking about-

I was thinking 

about stopping,

giving it all up

and succumbing to normality. 

And knowing,

I knew,

the misery hit 

and I thought about stopping;

stopping the misery,

stopping in misery,

stopping for the sake of-

for the sake of

my already-withering sanity 

to stay intact. 

I thought,

as I’ve said a thousand times;

I thought,

I thought too much,

perhaps a little too much

to be classed

as a passing thought. 

I knew,

I knew it would come to this,

so someone, please,

tell me,

why the hell

did I even start? 

Writer in Vain 

What if I 

don’t want the


but, the praise;

will it still 


What about my


Does it matter that

my skin is awful 

and I have an 

invisible top lip? 

Will the praise 

still come,

even if I’m no one? 

I want to know



nothing will change,

will it? 

I can dream,

I can picture 

my life

as if I were

like them:


with a small amount

of something. 

I’ll imagine it;

I’ll imagine 

being like them,



something to cling 

to, as the

talent fades 

and the mind

numbs itself 

in the vanity. 

Where We Go

I was told to get

a ‘real’ job

when my ‘real’ job

didn’t seem to fit

the description of

what they called 

a ‘reality’. 


it is alien to

stay inside all day

and apparently 

it is even weirder 

to stay inside all day and write. 

Perhaps I’m an alien 

but they didn’t like that

so I guess

I wasn’t an alien 

or at least not to them. 

I was useless 

I was wasting my time

but time to them

wasn’t the issue

it was the boldness 

in which I did


it frightened them

how I managed to

do what I loved 

and somehow 


I somehow survived

for a few months

I didn’t really need

a lot 

but they needed 

everything and they

needed to feel 


and that’s the- 

the expectations had risen 

and the expectations

we’re expecting me

to fit


and I refused 

to fit 


and so

they put me 


and I quite liked it


Imagine the Fields

You hung up a portrait

of John Lennon

above my desk;

so whenever I was

foraging for ideas, I

had his eyes, burning

down on me. I suppose

it wasn’t all bad, he

gave me something to

work from, I-

I started writing about

peace, I became a lot

more concerned and I

spent a lot of time

tripping off LSD.

Everything felt warm for awhile

and I met the spirit

of Krishna on my way

out of the house last Tuesday.