Being late was something that she had never been any good at. For twenty-seven punctual years she had made the point to be ten minutes early to wherever she had to be. But everyone has to be late at least once in their lives, and she was ten minutes late, which for her meant that she was twenty minutes late, and perhaps to those that are somehow always ten minutes late she was right on time or maybe even a little early.
She flashed her ticket at the bleary eyed man-who-looked-at-train-tickets-but-she-didn't-know-what-that-was-called and was impressed by the lack of humanity in a place where
Conversation can kill you.
Murder, homicide,
Name it what you will.
Idle chatter is merely another dagger,
To my daydreamer heart.
Maintain the manners,
Laugh in the right places,
Keep your mouth shut,
Yet not too much.
Don't dare to make it bearable.
Refrain from saying what you think.
Don't roll your eyes.
That would be rude, you know.
But then of course you do,
Otherwise you wouldn't agree with me,
Would you?
Sit and listen
To the yammer of weddings, supermarkets
And reality television.
Just don't let them know,
You'd rather be someplace else
And that they're killing you,
Inside.
Deep in the dark
And high above our heads,
The dust settles
On past moments.
Locked away beneath the beams,
In cardboard boxes
And damp cases,
Are left behind lives,
Static and sadness,
In the end only saved,
To be cast away.
Kiss them goodbye,
You can't keep them forever.
She's disappeared
And you don't know why.
You call her a stranger
But the truth is you never met her.
You never knew her heart.
You stopped her words,
With harlequin eyes,
So you saw forced smiles,
Locked and toothless,
That never reached her eyes.
You wonder why she's run away.
Did you really think that she would stay?
Judged. The subject of many whispers,
Stuck in a witless world,
That didn't like her.
She's not coming back.
We are a blade and a bullet,
And we hurt in different ways.
Let's agree to disagree,
On my flaws, and on yours.
On occasion we were a storm
And more often than not
We rained on our parades.
But then we drowned in the dust,
In the ashes of quick remarks
And shades of misunderstanding.
I do not apologise, and nor should you,
For I am me and you are you
I wish you the very best,
And hope you remember me,
In the days of new black
And silly midnight secrets.
How old are you Grandad, she asked.
I said I was twenty-two.
She didn't believe me.
She was six.
With that pink hat she lost
In the town that's dead now,
That graveyard of the recession.
And on my centenary
I received correspondence
From her majesty
Who said I could start my birthdays again.
Don't be silly, she said.
Maybe she did believe me.
I dreaded the day that she would know.
Know that I had lied.
She wouldn't be six for very long
And that hat would get left behind.
How old are you Grandad, she asked.
I said I was seventy-eight.
Shouldn't you be thirty-four, she said.
No, but my hip is nearly five.
Diamonds Don't Break by inkandstardust, literature
Literature
Diamonds Don't Break
He is the shard of an old life,
And the edge of where broken,
Cuts the heart when held.
She is the dust of an old laughter,
And she glints and glitters
And gets into your eyes.
You did not drop them
Nor make them shatter,
Only accepted their goodbyes.
They are just mirrors in the distance,
Reflecting back a girl who broke away
Yet did not break.
On their glass you did not paint the cracks,
Only saw them and made your own.
Silence did not splinter them,
Now you’re just a girl they used to know.
A School for the Future by inkandstardust, literature
Literature
A School for the Future
Trace the carved names,
Scratched expletives
And peeling doors.
The scent of dust,
Disinfectant,
Long lacquered wood,
And cheap perfume.
This was your world.
It was tired,
And getting on a bit,
But affectionate.
Anonymity was just a word,
And you were safe,
Thinking it would never end.
It's gone now, what was yours.
Dug up and rethought,
Shiny and new.
They've ripped it all away,
The stage and the walls.
But please remember,
It was just brick, tile and mortar,
Its heart still beats,
Dusty, yet glorious
And forever yours.
Only the birds speak
And a battered aviation radio
Mumbles a reply.
Through a glass door,
To a pretending Wonderland.
Warm stone and bare feet,
Parched grass and puddles,
Somewhere a hosepipe leaks.
A very English summer.
It doesn't feel like
The fifth worst city in the world.
Not on these mornings,
Never.
Death Will See You Now by inkandstardust, literature
Literature
Death Will See You Now
I'd like a holiday,
A pool in Dubai
Or a weekend in Paris.
Nothing fancy.
But you watch,
Someone will drown
Or choke on a baguette,
And I'll have to do some overtime.
No, I'm not a doctor,
These aren't healing hands,
Quite the opposite.
Do you know when you plan
To kick the bucket?
It's just I'd rather you made
An appointment.
I can pencil you in
For Saturday
At half past nine.
That's not too early for you is it?
No, you can't cancel.
But I assure you
A spring funeral
Is always lovely.