Mother…colours.

I will always remember the colour of your ears. Thinking how quickly the blood had turned thick & pooled, dark and still, trapped in this bits of your body where it stayed after you heart stopped. Viscous, oozing, moving slowly, only with gravity, to the areas lowermost in your body as you lay supine, a blanket up to your chest, the sticky pads of the defibrillator still attached to your skin just visible under the edge of the satin lined cream wool. Your highest features already a waxy yellow, your nose, your forehead, your chin, your chest, making you look like a waxwork dummy. The dark blood hanging in your ears & lobes. I remember thinking on how wrong they get it films & TV. How can they get the colours all so wrong? Why do they lie? When you’re dead, even just an hour after, you turn a horrible fatty yellow and aubergine purple where the blood is draining & gathering and congealing. Rothkoesque, clashing colours, the colours of death on this still canvas, only possible with a stillness that will come to us all.
No one tells you this, I guess youre never meant to know the colours you go….Muma

See Saw..

I gave up food and took up cigarettes. I got thin.
I gave up cigarettes and took up crisps. I gained weight.
I gave up crisps and took up cheese. I gained more weight.
To give up cheese can I take up cigarettes again?

Sheeple…

Wandering like undead sheep into the abyss,
The only clouds dark, unlined,
People happily fall, unaware of their actions, thoughts, consequences.
No yellow hosts of triumphant beauty welcome them there.
No stars will shine to guide the way, just highly polished pieces of faeces rolled in glitter,
Pretending to be stars,
Pretending to be something they are not,
Toxic shiny plastic squares fall away as they dance with you.
Polluting the vacuous souls
No bliss, no solitude, no pensive mood,
You’re just left with the stains they leave,
Stains that don’t come out..

Seeds..

Hes planting seeds, 

I find this troubling.

These seeds are for creepers,

Creepers with thorns, 

thorns that rip & tear.

They grow so fast, too fast to tame.

They choke & block,

Replacing truth with barbs.

Warden or wife?

Am I his warden or his wife?

His carer or his spouse?

His keeper or his friend?

Half of these things I don’t want to be…….

All of these things are difficult,

all need to be worked at,

all need strength.

Im afraid Im too weak..

Well Fed…

I have fed him a carefully crafted meal, a dinner of foods that can help him feel better. High protein, loads of Turkey with the extra tryptophan to get those neurones firing on target, to calm and relax. Lots of green veg and comfort food of roasted potatoes, mashed carrots, swede and parsnip, drizzled in a real gravy. He ate and thanked me. I know the thank you was for more than just the meal.

It really works, avoiding the processed foods he used to cram in his body to get hits of sugar, he is calmer. He is nearly him again.

Bye bye him, hello you….

Glue..

24  hours have passed,

We’ve not spoken, I have left him alone.

After all the Fuck Off’s & screaming,

stomping and glaring, anger & hate he’s crashed,

another bit of him lost forever, frailer, more lost he hides under the sheets in the dark, weighted down, secure, safe.

He’s feeling guilty, remorseful, ashamed and even more broken. I now have to try and glue him back together, there is always new bits missing, new holes where he used to be.

One day there’ll be nothing left but the memory of the shape of him.