The pretty lies, consorting with the shitty rhymes..

So Ive been wondering what I what to use this blog for - I don't want it to be a sort of clinical schedule-style diary, but I don't want it to be some wasteland of my own self-indulgent depressive ramblings, I want it to maybe have some semblance of structure, and most certainly humour and more than a pinch of salt. But not so much that Im writing with disdain, I want to be genuine and not some smug self-satisfied wannabe writer. (Im pretty sure Im all of these things, by the way. I just don't want to actually have it reflected back at me in my own words!) But I just think that when you're not writing for a particular set-up, it's so easy with blogs to drift into a certain tone, more often than not ending in pages of stream of consciousness that people think is wildly revealing but is just emo. In the worst sense of the word.

So good, Ive established what kind of blog I don't want to write - although, annoyingly, on rereading that last paragraph I can't help but notice my tone is exactly that of a blog I don't want to write. Rambling, and lazily peppered with generalisations and caricatures. Dammit!

Well, in demonstration of how cliche-ly (don't think thats a word..) emo I don't want to be, Im going to type up some god-awful poems. Although, in all seriousness, Ive got some old poetry I found a couple of months ago that I'd written 2/3 years ago, and re-reading it shook me a little as it reminded me of how much I used to write, and how much comfort I took in it. And, actually, how I used to be a right bloody mess! So Ive been trying to put them in a box somewhere, but haven't really found a place for them, as they're not really relevant to who I am now, but it's kind of interesting, having a brief snapshot into who exactly you were at a particular time, and exactly how you felt. But, anyway, I ramble. Im going to put some on here, and who knows maybe it'll be cathartic. At the very least, when I lose them in the jungle of clothes, paper, makeshift ashtrays and mouldy cups of tea that is my bedroom, they still exist somewhere in the world.


The makeup saved your life, made you up
And made you look like you were loved
But your eyes were paved with stains from better times
And I proclaim
Nothing. Redemption resides in the schoolyard
With memories categorised and illustrated,
Quietly frustrated I long for some smack,
I long for a break, all along you were
Tracked, we were made to come back
To speed up this time, entangled
And belittled til my postcode's stolen France
And it's so sad you can't see past the bottom of your champagne glass
And it's so sweet the way that you suppose
That the police will protect your home
Ah, the gentle deja-vu in lovers' eyes
Plasticine babies best forgotten, as serotonin levels rise
And I propose
Nothing. A small request for a forlorn rogue
Humiliated and stripped of prose.