Archive for March, 2009


Some days the world turns and you don’t even notice
I woke up this morning and felt your absence stronger than yesterday
In a place I have created inbetween my heart and my soul every part of our past lays sleeping
It awakens when I breathe your name
I dont remember the rest of the day
The world turned silently around me
I remember only.. A few words you shed my way
Which made me miss you even more
And the world just kept turning
I knew this only
Because the sun dissapeared
The sky was dark
And I realised the day was over
Yet inside myself
Nothing had moved…

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I am starting to feel….
Annoyed ?

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How much would you sacrifice to have the love of your life?
What if the love of your life…
What if you are not the love of their life?
How can you tell?
Before you sacrifice peace..
Yet what is peace?
Isn’t that being with the love of your life…

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It’s hard to define real life
listening to a programme about children dying from Aids in Africa
Doesn’t seem real when driving along singing on a sunny day in Australia
I don’t think the materialistic world in which I am living / working…
really gives a fuck about dying children
I don’t think it’s who I want to be or the way I want to live anymore
But I have no idea how to change it
I have no idea at all…
What is real?

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It’s that dream you have
The one where you are falling
But you dont remember from where or why
You just wake in the middle of falling
That is what it is like
Heart running away
Gone given lost
before you even know it
laying ripped open
blood pouring from nervous wounds
Waiting for stitches
my heart in your hands
I continue falling…

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Hours Of Therapy

Do you think it helped?
No idea why the question comes out of nowhere today
I try and find an appropriate "non truthful me" answer to appease
As typically as a group of recovering alcoholics find Jesus
you are suspected of answering yes
truth be known though
I think it messes with your head as much as the infliction messes with your body
Which in turn messes with your head
Which in turn in later years messes with your body
Your view of your body
And everything inside your head
If anyone asked my opinion now, years later
Of course they don’t and if they did they don’t listen
Or care to listen
Or as is the case right now i have feigned happiness so they don’t know
Because i belive they don’t in fact care to know
But rather the curiosity of human nature has the wounded perched on a shelf in need of dusting
I would say though
That how the hell can you learn what it’s like to be nothing
And how in reality can you ever heal a wound you never saw in the first place
Hours of therapy
A complete waste of time
Teaching you only to smile and nod yes

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When I am gone

So he reappears into my life and lectures me about not having yet written my book
Despite his genuine love and beautiful comments about my writing I consider him more the master
My writing is random disorganised and fragmented
His has that perfect structure that I imagine in print
Mine has that eclectic "she was crazy" imprint
That I am sure I will hear whispered long ater I am gone…
So much of myself I lay bare in effortless waves as thoughts pour into my head and swirl around causing insomnia and daydreams
I have no clue about punctuation or spelling or anything else it takes to be a writer
I am simply discovering who I am and who I was and trying to understand if I will ever know who I am meant to be
And really… who needs to be troubled by that?
I will write my book I tell him, my dear dear friend Simon who has watched my journey even if at times from afar (and yes i told him i was cranky and hate him every time he dissapears)
I just cannot promise anyone will ever read it
When I am gone…

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