To No One in Particular

Back in the day, I was the guy you called for a pint-and-a-punch-up, 
back in the days when I didn’t drink.  Who do you call now, with so many moons passing?  
I saw what’s-her-name some time ago, it being a fragment of my imagination.
She asked about you, but I couldn’t remember her name, so I ummed and ahhh’d until she walked away. 
Another fragment I won’t get back.  
Nor she.

“Everything changes, if it’s allowed to”, 
tattooed on my arm, to remember.  Read over and over again.  
You said that to me and I tried to understand.  I’m still trying.
Everything changes, if it’s allowed to.
Back in the day when I didn’t drink,
I was the guy you called for a pint-and-a-punch-up, 
Who do you call now, if anyone at all?

To, No one in Particular:
I nearly wrote you something last night.  The words came, but so did the shame 
followed by my embarrassment, so all you get is this.   
…Three days later I came up with this …
I wanted to ask you to hold my hand, to lay with me
and tell me everything was going to be ok, 
to tell me the one lie I needed to hear.  
Who do you call now?  Is it what’s-her-name?  Her and her passing moons!  
Or is that too, just a fragment of my imagination.
I want to hold your hand, lay next to you as you tell me.

Everything changes, even when it’s not allowed to.

If I Could Live Forever

If I could live forever what would I be?

Would I be a writer? a singer?  Or would I just be plain nothing, as nothing and as plain could be?  Who knows, maybe I would be just a no thing.

If I could live forever, what would I do?  Would I do good, or would I do bad?  More than likely I would do both, but subjectively more good than subjectively bad.

When I’m with her, I feel like I’ve lived a life; like I’ve lived a life that’s forever.

As I lay sleeping I hear that voice call my name, each syllable bouncing off her lips, the same lips that kisses me.

If I could live forever what would I do?

Lov’d Him

I’m not sure if I ever told him that I loved him.
I have tried so many times to remember if I did.
Not knowing, makes me even sadder.
I did love him, and I loved him a great deal.
But when you know your love will destroy their dreams, you remain silent.
I was accused by many of pushing him away so I could be free,
they never knowing, I pushed him away from me so he could be free.
I am not sure if I ever told him I loved him,
but I know if I did, he would never be free.


We play a game of Russian Roulette, careful not to wake the dead,
we know that even in death, there is no guarantee of sleep.
My turn. Hand slightly shaking, I count backwards. 10, 9, 8, 7..
Will I or won’t I? 5, 4, 3, 2… I will!
I pull the trigger! ‘click’.
We laugh. It is not my time to go.
Big boys, playing with boy toys.

I want to tell you that I love you,
but boys don’t say that to boys,
I learned that lesson a long time ago.
Jenny drives over to join us.
I watch, feeling jealous as you kiss her; how you look into her eyes; how you smile.
Watching you slightly stroking her breast, I know I shouldn’t,
but wanting to watch, and unable to peel away,
I can feel myself getting hard.
Playing Russian Roulette.
I am 32, way too old to be playing this game.
I have to wait for a suitable moment to eventually head to the toilet.
My sensitivity heightened being in same space as you,
I try to stifle my groan as I cum.

Not wanting to be a third wheel, I’m heading back home.
Music blaring, I’m singing to some camp classic.
As I pull into the driveway, I can see that you’ve left me a message.
You and Jenny have had argument and she’s gone. I go back to yours.

We talk about Jenny. How she’s a bitch, how all she does is complains, about how crap she is in everything she does, but how at least she gives good head. We talk and drink.
We drink, we talk, solving nothing, not even our own world problems.
We stumble up the stairs, laughing about all the stupid shit we just drank ourselves silly about.

I finally get you to your room, plopping you on the bed. I turn to walk out, but you pull me towards you, with me falling on top of you. We are face-to-face, as I try to pull away, you pull me back.  ‘Man, I tell you, if I were gay, I’d be all over you’, and then you kiss me, on the mouth. You. Kiss. Me. On. My. Mouth. We kiss. We both stop, then stare at each other.  I don’t know what to say. You smile, and repeat, ‘if I were gay, I’d be all over you’ and fall off into a drunken sleep.

We play a game of Russian Roulette, careful not to wake the dead,
because we know that even in death, there is no guarantee of sleep.
Falling asleep on the couch, I know that you told me love me;
but boys don’t say that to boys’, I tell myself, ‘I learned that lesson a long time ago’.


You are my first thought in the morning,
the last in the evening,
and the many thoughts in between.

AAB’s Lament

He knew no love song or poem would ever be written for him;
not even those written in his own words.

The Insta Singer

I Googled myself today.

All that stuff of me singing came up.  I listened to it, cringing with each sung note.  I have that moment where I realise that I am a no singer, not at all.   You know, I really didn’t want to sing, I did it for you.  No, you didn’t know that – my question was rhetorical.  I was so desperate to impress you and hadn’t much in my arsenal to use – being broke, unemployed, with very little talent.  But I thought, at least you can sing (thought, being the key word).  So, I spent the last of my money I had in a last-ditch effort to impress you; to grab your attention.  Jazz.  I saw somewhere that you like jazz, so I recorded these songs – jazz songs – and every other day, I placed them on Instagram.  11 songs over 22 days (more or less), and you didn’t like any of them – not one.  And, to add further insult to injury, on 23rd day I post a picture of me cuddling a cat and lo and behold, I get a like.  I get a like because I was with a fucking cat – a cat that wasn’t even mine I should add (I’m more a of a dog person).  That was the day I gave up singing.  It should have been the day that I gave you up, but that task has proved to be a lot more difficult.

Did you know writing cost you nothing – well, nearly nothing?  Did you know that you can take as long as you want to let each letter turn into words, those words turn into sentences, the sentences into paragraphs?  Do you know that each time I hit publish and share my creations with the world I feel I’ve accomplished something?  Do you know the feeling I have knowing the words I turn into paragraphs are all mine?  Every day for the past seven months, I have written – mostly about you.  Yes, I know you didn’t know that.  And, I’m happy to say that in the past seven months you have actually liked one of my postings – me cuddling a cat – a cat that wasn’t even mine I should add (I’m more a of a dog person) – it seems you are more of a cat person.

And, I still Google myself.  I want to ensure my words are still there on the world-wide-web.   That the words I turn into sentences for you, are still there.  That if I die tomorrow my words, my sentences, and me and that bloody cat, will live long after me.