Audiofrog

  You misunderstood me again tangled up in your misinterpretations you heard something I never said I’m a social chameleon inching along the branch of your insecurities switching colours and personalities Hoping to dart out my endless marshmallow muscle molasses tongue and catch a fly of “news I can use” a bit of you that I can add to my pallet and display as I’m edging along another branch I’m a social chameleon waiting to regurgitate what I’ve ingested at just the right moment with just the right quota of impact like an inebriated gatecrasher vomiting onto a prominent part host’s

While walking home from work one day in the rain I encountered a lump of mutilated flesh on the side of the road although I should have looked away I marvelled at the glossy sheen of the membrane surrounding it and watched the last drops of living blood ooze syrupy out of its crushed ventricles. The blackened sting of the bits of gravel around into its spongy processed strawberry yoghurt pink blood-drained muscle made me wince with an all too recent tenderness and as I lifted my boot to nudge it out of my way I saw something just a little too familiar in the edges of its shape so I looked down at the craterous wound in my

Rehab is for quitters  Please, please don’t give me a spade because I will dig a hole with it and don’t give me a mountain of affection because I will only bury myself in it don’t be kind to me because I am unable to appreciate it don’t accept me the way I am because I will point out all my faults ad nauseam to try and convince you that I am unworthy don’t be generous or sweet or gentle because I have been damaged so badly that my withered spirit only understands pain don’t climb over the barbed wire fence of my bitterness because I can build a new one faster than you can tear it down A

Grate, grate, grate My heart slides over the finger-top, dimpled metal plates Shavings of flesh squeeze, bloody Through the sharp curves I gave you a small, stilly shiny-smooth corner of my soul Not criss-cross kelloid with the past To caretake And you force it Grate, grate, grate Through the serrated surfaces With your pointed words And leave me oozing Damaged Grate, grate, grate Another scar, another surface Open to salt Open to burn Open over you Grate, grate, grate

Today it’s all black and white the shades of grey come with experience You don’t believe me because you are 18 and safe in the knowledge that you have mastered everything that you will ever need to know you look at me, with what you’re convinced is wisdom because I am confused and sad and I can’t quite decide You say I need to grow up and you are shocked that you can offer me your platitudes and advice and smug smug that when you are 24 you will never feel desperately alone that the solutions will be clear that you will never have to listen to the musings of a semi-adolescent in order to gain pers