Creeping Sleep.

Breath, stumbles clumsily from my lips and I try the last footsteps home

Door unlocked, but I’m blindly breaking in.

Finger joints dislocate their senses,

Can it be nerves? When there’s nothing to be nervous for.

Another door,

open once more remaining shut at my palm

Stair further than my head will lift, steps slowly careful as not to dissolve upon it’s saturated green fur… ther, just a little I suppose,

I gave up counting steps.

Door. Fall through. Onto bed. Slumber crawl to pillow, seep under quilt head down. Rest.

Rest.

Fall.

I’m tired that’s all, maybe under the weather, should call the doctor… wouldn’t want to bother

            Them.

Of age, but not yet over.

I haven't written for a while, I meant to, I suppose,
Tie together the loose ends, who teather words like clothes,
It was not my intention, should I mention?
That I meant to write, honestly. About it all!
Birds, sea, sky, land, the lines which lie upon my hand.
About turning 18, not causing a scene, a life as boring as it seems.
All which now live upon a daze, memories distant,
Dance together in longing gaze, upon my eyelids,
They soon forget, I haven't done my assignment yet.

Amor.

You know it's bad but it's often true,
You don't love anyone,
Because no-one loves you.

Children's Television.

For part of my Spanish homework this weekend, I have to watch an hour of children's television and look at the adverts inparticular, see what sort of things are advertised and whom they are aimed at.

Obviously being 17 this kind of programming isn't designed for me to say the least but I've already decided that the entire business is one created by mental pacients who I hope to God don't really think that they know anything about children.

 At current there is a young material made toroise who can not count to ten and has gone to some duck to ask for help who's son has the same problem. After the owl who for some reason has a very strong welsh accent breaks everything insight, they decide to go to the beach to practice counting sandcastles. They concur their problems whilst along on a beach. Why a baby tortoise and a duckling are on a beach together I will never understand but atleast they show realistic parenting styles on this porogramme. After Owen the owl has continued to fail at simply putting some shelves together the youngsters help him and they all sing a song together to help him put the shelves together. Once a simple set of shelves have been made by an owl they then decide to go to the beach again to practice more counting.

Call me a cynic (as I am one) but Kids Tv like this is pointless...

Saturday

It's now that time, I've got to go,
Silenced emotions begin to flow,
Exploding, tears beat her cheeks as they run away,
I can't believe it's only Saturday.

All those times, I said I loved her,
Kissed her deep upon the spur,
Of a moment so romantic that it causes me pain,
Will I ever get to see her again?

What can I possibly do for her?
'Try to make it all better' ?
By telling her sweet nothings, when nothing's left to say,
I can't believe it's only Saturday.

What was my life before her?
A bare, blank page, no colour,
Anywhere. Let's go there, that's where I want to be,
Run away for a year and day in a boat colloured like a pea.

I caress her face, mixed beauty and grace,
Being a mess, I'm all over the place,
Any place would be better, carry her off, steal her away,
I can't belive it's only Saturday.

I must be off, mum's waiting,
Ringing my phone, reminding, vibrating,
Away at me, telling me, but I stay, hold her tight,
Soon another man will be her shining knight.

I let her go, imagine my future,
I can't seem to find life without her,
Her hand waves in the side mirror as we drive away,
I can't believe today is Saturday.

Today

Today isn't my day,
It belongs to someone else,
As cruel, unkind and bitter as I,
And whom I repulse.

The weather agrees with me,
Violent winds howl desire,
A means to escape, to be free,
Caught upon, barbed wire,

Although alone on this worker's wheel,
That cat on that mat,
Sat toying with that rat,
Don't tell me he don't know how I feel.

Surreal. Isn't it.
I'm telling you now, I'm not the only one,
Who's lost in this wilderness,
Without a light to turn on.

Today is not my day,
I just can't do this anymore,
My cat is howling, mother scowling,
A prisoner of my own civil war.

Pretentious/ depressing crap I write

There will always be that guiding light,
To save you upon that cold, dark night.

I hate these things,
These feelings I feel,
When everyone leaves,
And nothing is real.

Doing the little things overtime,
Keeps everything neat and fine.

There's an escape, an open door.
How I only wish, it would tell me more.

With the innocence of youth,
And a dangerous mind,
Was a curious girl,
Who questioned her kind.
With a criminal mind,
The same little girl,
Set one goal in life,
To destroy the world.

I know that you wont miss me,
but if you did this too,
Assure yourself completely,
That I'd be missing you.

With a swithblade knife and a broken heart,
She cut away back to the start.
With a broken heart and a switchblade knife,
She ended all this trouble and strife.
I will add to this. I just need to start remembering things.