aquasphyxia

Drowning. Can't say that was the way I thought it'd all end. Not that I imagined going out in some semi-literal blaze of glory, walking through an inferno to save a bus full of cancer-ridden orphans before striking an heroic pose for the cameras and collapsing in a triumphant heap of death. I'm arrogant, but not that much.

I more figured a quiet, somewhat dull end. In bed. Alone.

Pathetic I know, but death can be such a pain. For the dying obviously, whether it's a heart that suddenly stops beating, causing searing pain firing off around the body like being stabbed with hot skewers; or actually being stabbed with hot skewers. And of course for those left behind. You spend a lifetime, however long or short, building up a gaggle of acquaintances, most of whom are mildly saddened by your passing, but then there's those who love you. Not "yeah love ya babes" bullshit, but the ones that have a deep-set attachment to you, and once you are gone they are incomplete and never truly the same again. It's true that they are the ones who suffer the most, because their pain is continual, whereas after the searing skewer stabs are finished, that's you done.

(Maybe you believe otherwise, but let's face it, you're not going to affect my opinion on 'life after death', it's a wee tad too late. You know, what with me drowning and all.)

What I'm trying to say is, it's best for it all to end simply. Just going to bed one evening, and never waking up. Hopefully it's not too long before someone finds you.

But not drowning. That's not gonna go unnoticed. It's not your run of the mill, stick on a tag and chuck 'em in the incinerator kind of death. You know that in a few days from now I'll being lying on a cold sheet of metal, with some old beardy guy carefully plucking out my organs one-by-one, weighing them whilst saying latin words into a dictaphone before going home to snort some coke and bang a prostitute, anything to drown out the stench of death. No pun intended. Plus, drowning makes the papers. Local anyway.

At least some cool last words would have been nice. Something to leave a positive lasting memory, rather than "I promise mummy, I'll stay in the shallow end".

not true but it rhymes

I want a bright copper kettle that whistles
And a garden ravaged with thistles
A roof made of straw
Giant rug on the floor
And a dog with one ear

I want a hand-built run full of chickens
A shelf full of Shakespeare and Dickens
I'll lie on the floor
For hours or more
Pretending to read

I want to gather fresh milk ev'ry morn'
For my first cup o'tea, crack o'dawn
No neighbours for miles
No need for forced smiles
I might make my own cheese

I want to breathe some actual fresh air
Walk around with no outerwear
In my personal zone
I'll be all on my own
With my whistling kettle

I don't have the charm

I always get it wrong.

Inspired by Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets I wanted to convey to a young ladyfriend how she made me feel. Whether it was nerves or alcohol that did it to me, telling her that she "made me want to be a wetter person" wasn't what I intended.

Still, it had some unexpected benefits.

starved

You wrote a note for me
on a brown paper bag,
put a sandwich in it
and sent me on my way.
I ate the bag,
keeping the sandwich
in a shoebox
under my bed.
I wasn't ready for lunch
back then.
One year less a day later
I revisited the box,
feeling the need
for a bite.
Inside lay half a pencil
and a butterfly.
I replied to you
and released the creature.

kiss it better

I shan't ever forget
the girl who taught me
the secrets
of the Glasgow Kiss,
though I'll never
remember her name.