Sir-Gecko

Perfection. The pinnacle of human existence Used to be aspired to in a simple metal. The path to happiness; existence itself Determined by the possession of a rarity Not anymore, what with rarities appearing Everywhere. It makes you think; what did exist? What was it that preceeded gold, when platinum And diamonds dominate the world today? Maybe a simple metal, such as copper? Or simply pretty stones? Maybe it was just a look Rather than the clank of metal in the pocket, That we can hail back to. So why is it we aspire to acquire items such as these? For power? To hoard and satisfy our constant demand For an influx of items to

Well let's just say, I'm sick of all the games I played, In words that made no sense. In truth I can be vain; Which may come as a shock, or not to those that have Suffered greatly in knowing me  for longer than a chat. I feel I've aged since I last wrote that unmelodic verse That ached with gloomy undertones… and overtones at that. So off with that discord of melancholic crap, And on with something a touch more jovial, An almost song, I'd hope you'd see To read upon this page for thee! Ach no, there goes myself again, using that archaic tongue, That plagues my writing. No Plagued. Yet I go on and on. Well, simply put, this li

Chapter 1: Trains I loved the whoosh of the trains. The sound of air rippling past the windows never failed to make me giddy with excitement. Two years ago that day, I had sat in the same spot, nervous, young and alone, and that sound had taken me away. Now, aged twelve whole years, eight months and a day old, I sat down in the carriage again, pretending that the noise didn't make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge for fear that I would be made fun of by the others that rode the car. Though I wouldn't call them friends exactly, they were the people I talked to; Bean, Wood and Smith. They were all my age give or take a few months,

Interesting topic, I have been reliably Assured that you do not know, have not received the Memo regarding something I've never said explicitly. Granted; I may have hinted at it from time to time And maybe I thought you'd see a pattern forming, but now, I see; You'd never understand.

So, I'm here with an absent mind, Watching moving lights behind a pane of glass, With my mind turning to mush, Numbed from a lack of inspired thought. This heart is a hollowed room, been emptied For a resident who has never come, Occupied only by ghosts of what I want. Hung around my neck, leaden chains weigh, Emotions amplified by the moment's rage, Tugging at me; each-so-every way to go. I'm endlessly hopeful of appraisal of someone Who is forever unlike me. While upon this couch others I know Have forgotten who I am in their own ecstasy. My monotonous mental torture endures, Belying a desperate hope to cease my solitude,

Sometimes, I feel I want to be wanted. But where do I go, to find a person Who wants me, and not a place To put his cock?

Liverpool Street The midday train carriage was full of people groaning and sweating as they tried to find room, moving hands from their sides to rest against anything that would kill the cramps that reared its head miles ago. A dull, repetitive thud of metal against metal beat constantly, drowning out voices which were now reduced to angered glares and replies of apologetic faces for the accidental brush of a hand drawn across a back or shoulder. Soon, the beat of the train on the tracks below began to slow, little by little at first, accompanied by a light screech of grinding metal which steadily built as the train began to retreat from the

Morning breaks over a landscape where The sparse patches of white dot the grass, These, the only measure of last night's fall Of snow which occupied the ground. An image of a speckled night sky remains, When the snowflakes down to earth To settle like an invading force, Defiant to the inevitable coming Of the sunrise. Shaking hands cover a worried mouth. My heart skips; I know what I did not hear: That which was whispered into your ear. In me, this memory tries to rest yet is disturbed; A wearisome thought that will not settle, Scratching at the back of the mind Trying to breach my defences. Your two widened eyes growing as

Here I am with an absent mind, Eyes fixated upon the moving lights As I vegetate in front of the TV. My heart, empty has lost its strings After mistakenly latching onto the unreal; A ghost upon a face that only I can see. Feeble emotions that feel as strong As a chain around my heart, Tugging me from side to side. I'll work at this, I will, I will and yet Here I know of others in pure joy While this inane mental torture Belies a desperate hope not to be alone, Punctured by a neurotic sense of being Deflated and dejected ego With my paralysed by misery. Maybe this sunken feeling will disappear When a joke is made on TV, But

Dust upon the horizon marks where we once were. In the sky; oppression arcs from distraught dawn, to dreary dusk, Glaring curses upon the empty wastelands; we ride Towards a destination beyond the furthest hills That we can see, without hope; this land reeks of grim despair. The skies are ablaze, the sun ignites the clouds A sullen mix of blood and flame sweeps the cooling air Before extinguishing tonight, as a ghostly mist does rise And kill the light from a silver slit cut into the sky. This path is lost, where behind is, chaos reigns. In this dark time, where blind we sit in fear, Of those who did run from us, when the sun was h