Sirocco

*It's a day for songs, it is... a couple more days like this and I'll have an album. Anyone want to form a band? :) Here goes: I was in my usual place right at the back of the line when she comes and throws it all in my face like it happens every time. She says "listen baby, my life is a mess and i don't know what to do you're not the first to know, i must confess but y'know this really isn't about you" And I said "hell whatcha know, I've been down this road before I hate to think that's where we're going Because I really thought this was more" So she stops and she looks like I'm levitating "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" And I stumble a bit - it's a little intimidating! And she tells me what she feels - "This is my prerogative, I hope you can understand I don't need another talking to, It's more than I can stand "It's my prerogative What I think and what I say Don't make it ab

Foolish, nowhere, Johnny-head-in-air Open. Read like a book, cover to cover; Nothing to hide, make every reader a lover. Reciprocity though, is so hard to find; So hard to unveil a reader's mind. And so, trusting pages begin to wrinkle; Smooth corners curl and paper crinkles. Lines & names hidden in a creased fold; so young and yet the book feels old. Reader be kind to a simple book; It's open about everything Perhaps you could share more than a friendly look?

The image falls of its own volition. Smashed against the floor, staining the carpet as the paint seeps out. I kept it fresh, that paint, adding new layers as they seemed to occur to me. And now, they run together and merge into an unfathomable murkiness. I lift the image up and stare; faded lines and blurred colours stare back. The layers I painted, I realise, Were merely my perception. The truth stares up at me from the carpet. Stain.