For the Both of Us

A lifetime of memories,

An array of moments lost in the blink of a heartbeat,

Faded are those joyous experiences of youth and love,

Incredible exclamations and insatiable lust,

The building of friendships and family,

Intoxicated merriment and magical mischief,

Dissolved into the fragments of each previously insignificant second.

My familiar face,

My familiar touch,

Forcefully and irrevocably unfamiliar to her,

A face so crumbled and cracked,

Like the shattered glass surrounding our portrait,

Uncontrollable frustration tainting our home,

Immovable shards distorting our reality.

Her uncomfortable shiver as my hand preaches my affections,

My palms gently brushing a sweet reminder across her cheek to no avail,

What used to be mirrors now become windows,

Transparent and empty,

Reflections darkened like the landscape beneath the night,

Prayers for our past laced with hopeful tears, 

Hopeful tears met by vacancy.

My smile forgotten by her deep blue eyes,

Those same eyes that grabbed every inch of me with each flutter,

The years spent embracing the beauty of vision,

She still sees me staring,

A heartbreaking lack of recognition is now my reply,

Take me back to the beach or the hills of our precious yesteryear,

Take me back to her as she was when she was mine.

Our journey unforgettable,

All tribulations fought off with an incomparable ease,

Life would not have been as beautiful without her,

Her hand in mine always acting as my balance against any instability,

As her mind disappears I use her beating heart as my source of strength,

She taught me happiness, hope and humility,

We lived extraordinarily sharing one life.

Our unified bond dissolving at the hands of hasty time,

Take her mind early but her soul will forever live on through our many creations,

She may forget my face and the history we made,

She may forget me and our irrevocable adorations,

As long as my feet grace this Earth though I will never forget,

Our love untouchable,

 I will remember for the both of us.

Suburban Memories

An ever-present breeze snakes respectfully around this still suburban maze.

An orchid of muted screenings based solely on improvised script.

These concrete coves an individual episode in the worldwide reality show.

The local tabby rolls lazily upon irritated chrysanthemums until a blunt bark disturbs its fur.

The daily eruption of youth an aging reminder of younger years.

Laughter.

                            Laughter.

                                                        Laughter.

                                                                                        Remember.

All walks of life connected as one by the simple blend of bricks, mortar and routine.

Future Olympians running laps around cobbled memories.

The finishing line never quite established for this never-ending race.

The back alley gateway an imaginary goal mouth swallowing potential.

From cups of diluted refreshment to cups of gold thrown aloft on foreign ground.

The birthplace of whirling pedals.

Not yet any thoughts of records or medals.

The origin of a great British legacy lies waiting amidst our terrific terraces.

After dark the curtains close and a loving oxymoron takes control of the night.

To make or to loathe the hidden question behind each fabric concealer.

"They're at it again" we say; "They'll be able to hear us" they say.

Entwined bodies or battling adjectives.

Passionate breathlessness or torcherous tears.

A diminshing relationship or a precious exchange.

Slamming windows to mask home truths and deceive nosy neighbors.

Unavoidable conflicts, wonderful innocence and unforgettable noise.

Celebrations remembered forever and a day.

Achievements always influenced by surroundings.

Triumphs spark imagery of those foggy winters and scorching summers.

As life progresses we refuse to forget that concrete strip.

Despite our required exits those memories cement the strongest foundation.

That breeze still present and that maze containing scatterings of a new generation.

Strobe Lights & Boredom

As I take a sip of my double Talisker, I peer into the mirrored back-bar and realise the severity of the situation. Dusty nosed miscreants obsessing over the ownership of a sweaty cubicle refusing to admit to any form of addiction. Moist palms grasping at distasteful clobber searching for a hit or two, or three.

The mass congregation of the 'Fred Perry Army' hustling and bustling past the bubble covered bouncers at the door, hiding their apparent dilation. Entry fee demands an unwelcome interaction. I get a glimpse of the cobbled street through some nearby glass. It has been invaded by locals knocking knees with the barest legs expecting the expected, at a fair price of course. 

There's a few reliving their youth in a clichéd batch of mid-life crisis avoiding speakers as best they can. It's about time to call it a day and stick to park trips with your youngest and box-set nights with the old ball and chain. Singles passionately grinding infront of a crumbling five year relationship. I'm assuming it was her flirtacious glance directed at the tatoo'ed barman. Or maybe this time it was his promiscuous smile. Either way this vocal brawl the penultimate clash before the explosion of vodka-flavoured tears. 

 Overwhelming confidence from the slanty-faced meat heads wearing tees roughly five sizes too small for their frame of femininity. Plucked eyebrows, concealer, sun-bed skin and shaved chests the pinnacle of the modern man. What a joke. I'm witnessing a realtime Discovery Channel style conquest for the elusive tangerine mistress.

The stink of Hollister aftershave creates a cloud of conformity and stings the eyes of the bearded hipsters in their corduroy cage. Whining that 'too many people know this song these days' and judging every generically dressed underage with eyes that say 'check my blog for updates.' Conversation muted by the iBerry and BlackPhone creating Tweets of facade and exclamations of "THE BEST NIGHT EVER L.O.L." 

There she is. The court jester. The 3AM queen. Once again she's pushed it at least seven shots too far. Baring her vapid mind, disrespected body and invisible soul to all upon the rickety table in the corner. 

An accidental push and shove met by a fist and a forehead rather than an apology or a handshake. Chemically imbalanced retards seeking confrontation and initiating a civil war upon the dirty dancefloor.

Just like the evening soundtrack mixed and muddled by the divine DJ, each evening a simple collection of repetitive sounds. Throw a net entwined by truth into this ocean of strobe and the sheer amount of pressure induced boredom caught within will widen your eyes. 

Everybody looking for a love of some description, or seeking an escape from our currently unresolved issues. Choking on alcohol, popping pills and puffing joints seems to be the most desirable wingman. Chatting up the exaggerated concept we call sociality placed importantly upon a pathetic pedestal. The phrase 'what the hell' quite ironically appropriate. 

A blurry mind and a pounding head usually the first sign of clarity for what feels like a lifetime. Is it worth becoming best friends with the bathroom floor and being greeted by the unlikely partnership of sunlight and vomit? My patience diminishing faster than the 90mph taxi ride to that place we call home. 

I feel like the fly on the wall of this repetitive omnibus and quite frankly, I'm bored...