Exposing our privates

Sometimes you go deep inside

That you can’t get out

Laugh or cry

It doesn’t really matter

You want to cut

You want to bleed

Just to feel the pain

Of something real

You want to hurt

You deserve to hurt

And everybody

Hates you

You see them smile

With their holding hands

You look beside you

To check the silence is still there

And then they laugh

And make a joke

At your expense

And you can see

That there is no hope for you here

And you can tell

That there never will be

Sometimes at night I cry

Sometimes at night I ask myself why

Why did you go

I will never really know

But I know you won’t be coming back to me

Sometimes at night I feel lonely

Sometimes at night I am on my own

These are the worst

Perhaps tonight I’ll burst

Filling up with memories of you.

Silence sang to me

In the dark

It was the voice of souls

Or perhaps of nightlight memories

They got straight through

No daytime distraction

No clear refraction

They have but themselves to present me

And now I am sure

That colours can be seen

And voices can he heard

Where sunlight cannot shine

As the sleeper awakens

Very much like a flower

Every bit like a flower

And I try not to be sentimental

For the trial is judged by the day.

She is the buttered knife in the bottom of the sink

She is expensive slimmers’ food and greasy chips

And beer

She is our lack of bog roll

She is swift like a sloth with a tree on board

In he room she is bored

She needs TV

She needs glossy mags

She needs Haze, Sean, Tony and Ash

She needs clubbing

But who’s got the stick?

(Probably her)

Everything that goes missing is in her room

Festering cups, Paul’s scissors which she denied having

She is the hole in my bank account

She takes but does not give

After six months she hasn’t even offered us a cup of tea

Or a polo mint

I would lock her in her room with a stone to see who bled first

She is two hungry cats, who starve all day

They cry outside my window

They poo on the floor

Their dish is never washed

The cat food knives are caked with cheap meat

They will soon be an Indian’s dinner

They got thin, they got ill, they got fleas

An eye swelled up and poured on to the floor

She didn’t notice anything

She leaves everything until it is too late

She wants to be a nurse

Here clothes are trendy, her makeup is thick

Her music is on the scene

She is on the scene

She is in bed until one o’clock

And then on the phone

“I got pissed last night,”

“Guess who Boredom got off with,”

“So much fit and talent,”

She is neither fit or talented

She always asks favours

She is those words you say when angry

She is the depression in the house

She is going

She is going soon

She is not interested in the environment of recycling

She is not interested in our lives

She spends the money she owes on herself

She never asks how the bills get mysteriously paid

Or how the dustbin gets amazingly empty after she has filled it onto the floor

She speaks to the cats:

“Shut up!”

She speaks to her parents:

“Shut up!”

She’s not a clever person

She’s not a good person

She wonders why we don’t like her

But she is going soon

No more awakenings at 3am

No more rude people on the phone all day

“Is Ali there?” Click!

“Is Ali there?” Click!

“Is Ali there?” Click!

Not any more.

She is a list far longer than this.

I feel bleak

Weak

Alone

Adrift in the dark

Without a map

Without a guide

Without the voice of another

To tell me I’m here

I hear sound

Muffled

Outside

A passing car

Midnight truck

Going their way

Yet all I know

Is in this room

I think back

Snow

School

The memories road

At the start in a car

Faceless drivers

Never seeing them

Timeless destination

I feel boxed

Caged

Distant

Unable to touch

Unable to remember

Unrecorded moments

Losing their way

I can’t seem to sleep.