Poetry #3 - The Dead Set - 01/09

I can't find the finished version of this. It's the first proper poem I ever wrote.

The Dead Set,
Honey lightning rod barricades him in,
Look up, says he
Numero faccio contare inverso,
The beasts of the taiga hiss and buzz
Heaven's spots of light are women
in the Holocaust.
But there are no Anne Franks here.
Thirsty toil takes tritiatation
Wake up Donnie, Go to sleep John
'Holdmust i hendur allur heimurinn oskyr' says he.
A smoked menthol swallow and
fly away, Morph to '92
where Power Rangers play
on top tiaga tribesmen roamed
Spots now light heavy watching
One day he will touch. Now he says
"I'd lose myself in clarity
and find myself in chaos"
Look down, says he
The still golden castle holding
him out in open arms

Classroom Episodes - A to Z - 03/09

A few times in my life I’ve begun to wonder if there is any meaning to things. Because without meaning, everything begins to feel so lost. Certainly, there have been times when I’ve felt there hasn’t been any, and so I’ve started to feel so lost, and alone. Dave was always the one who would be there and tell me that everything would be okay. Either that, or he would at least make it feel like things weren’t as bad as they seemed. For a while, I felt a strange attraction to him. Good natured people seem to find me and I latch on to them, one after another. Hearts are confused things and coupled with a troubled mind, they can often make foolish decisions. I often imagined what it would be like, the two of us together.

“Just close your eyes, and don’t think about anything” he would whisper. Kind hands and his warm heart were all I could feel. Little by little, I would feel everything drift away, his warmth replacing it all. My mind would wander to thoughts of us, hands and bodies intertwined. Nothing but him.

Over a period, I think that he began to realise how I felt. People can only pretend to ignore what is in front of them for so long. Quite some time passed before he could no longer ignore what it was we were falling into. Realisation is the end of ignorance, and I think that ignorance is always better. Sometimes he would look at me in such a way that I began to think that maybe he felt the same, but somehow I knew that something was stopping him. Touches became more edged, hands would be withdrawn quickly and nervously. Under his kind exterior, his fear betrayed him. Visits became shorter.

Without him, I began to feel sad again. Xenobiotics have always been a cure for me, but something was different. Yearning was replaced by fantasy, and I slid deeper into it, like a newer and stronger drug. Zonked out on the sofa, I find myself back in his arms.