Alchemisland

So many gifts, my parents could have named me Santa

Dipped I drip ink into the sink like I just got in the door from a Bic-drawn world

Everything seems wicked, all the rides are free if you have a ticket

Everybody I know possesses laminate season passes and codes for golden keys

I’m down low like a mole in transit, cold and lonely on my knees

Just me, my fantasies and my leaky tap nose

Clacking keys where mould grows

My young bones feel old, Alice in Chains mode

Flat out fucked and 7UP flat

In cups, pissing in an empty bottle of Buckfast since young

My throw hosts fleas

No MP3s I’m still dealing with CDs

Bought about 100 in NCBI charity shops

Floor could do with a sweep and mop, deck scrub the lot

Hair could do with a chop

Spent teabag sink mound could do with a slop

My heart broken clean in two, like a foot of balsa Karate choppers used

I used to beat myself up until, like a fly’s arse, I was black and blue

That’s true but in the end what does quiet martyrdom do for you?

What I did for one glumly I now do for two and it’s lovely

I went from weed-dumbed to quite rum chap

Back to the garden, hardened heart softened once we said sorry for the apple

I used to see things cattle-wise, that’s black and white

Now I’m that much wiser, many shades like wine, cider and paint drying

Push myself outside myself, don’t worry about selling

Follow your passions and obsessions, where to there’s no telling

You can illustrate your abundance of care without yelling

I was onto something once, a whole year my brain light-flooded

I was, for the first time in my ankledragging life, lightfooted

As a mountain goat, I feel bantamweight light like a phantom fat in life

First night dead since the backslid knife and, what do you know, it’s actually nice

Airy and light, a sense, finally, of fairness, I suppose I should thank the faeries

For caring for one so contrary; after dawn, the sky blue as tendertouch Mary

She knows a thing or two about caring