Back To Work In Five Hours And Counting I strain for a grain of sleep. Eyes stinging in vain. Mind flutters throwing up thoughts, Lost in jack-shit dreamland, But unable to sleep. Synapses fire; ears listen, Sounds intrigue; shadows dance. Skin bubbles with senses alive. Desperate to slip into softness. The warmth of sleep slithers, Further away again... Again, There is no respite. A low distant hum continues. The odd swoosh of cars, Swiftly lifts inky blackness. A dull ache broods and forms, Behind one busy eye. There is no hope for peace now.

Not Dead; Just Sleeping I am the threat in the dark, I am the heat of the night, I am the lurking fear, friend. I am the broken bottle, I am the snoozing nightmare. I am the snarling black dog, I am the screeching siren, I am the creeping white heat, I am the strangler of youth, I am the uneasy dream. Not dead yet; Just sleeping.

Single Man Waiting For The Bus In The Pouring Rain I carve this heart on to my skin, I wear these jeans you love me in, I flaunt this shirt you ripped wide open, I purse these lips you kissed so often, I blink these eyes you looked right through I ruffle this hair that you once blew. Your love was only something surface. Material. Once I didn't have my money, my looks and my awesome personality, you fucked off with some estate agent called Gareth from Northampton.

This low, slow fog chokes the dank, swollen earth. My hot, shining tears sting my shamed solemn face. The last time I cried was the last time I hurt you. For, in breaking your heart, I began to break mine.

That Giddy High That giddy high as my hand explored the exotic darkness of your inner thigh. The crushing low of riding home in my Dad's car, with nothing but the scent of you on my hand.