Life Is Not Like A Box Of Chocolates At All
It’s like a record of nursery rhymes
being dragged backwards
revealing Satanic messages
mocking and goading you into
self sabotage and emotional annihilation.
Nothing in your starving cupboards
but that same old ‘big bag of dicks’.
Sexually transmitted diseases and diabetes
town-stalking you on Valentine’s Day.
A crack in your only beer glass, Jesus!
The constantly parroted, multi-voiced “No!”
Guilty until proven a little bit less guilty
(At which point nobody really cares anymore!)
False friendships without benefits.
The comfort of underachieving.
2 + 2 = complications and migraines.
‘The End Is Nigh’ is the future waving
and confused deathbed cries of
“What the fuck was that all about?”
© Paul Tristram 2016
Drawing On Desperation
Sometimes that is all that you have got left,
yet, there is an energy to this too,
if you can just focus and use it to your advantage
before it dissipates into apathy.
Desperation is not a nice feeling
but you can Drive that Bastard
before it Drives You,
off to those dark, negative places.
Grab that bitch of a wheel, take control,
learn to manoeuvre the stalking madness,
steer down those panicking rapids,
gear change and side-corner your way out of there.
Sometimes merely Surviving is enough
and not Losing Today
means that you are setting yourself up
to Winning one of your approaching Tomorrows.
© Paul Tristram 2015
Your True Colours Are Making Me Vomit
So that’s what all the mask-wearing’s for!
I only just realized exactly what the word
‘Vile’ means, up until then I thought (Silly me!)
that it was to describe mediocre things
like ‘That Food Doesn’t Taste Very Nice’
or ‘The Dogshit That You’ve Just Stepped In’.
I’m actually cringing at my own naivety
and innocence in such diabolical matters.
Ah, that explains the lashing out
and picking holes in random people…Insecurity.
I mean, you are bound to be insecure
carrying that ‘Picture Of Dorian Grey’
around with you inside, all of the time, right.
I’m starting to understand, well, in a car crash
sort of way, where you want to have a peek
but your natural, decent impulse is to flee
as far away from the ugliness of it as possible.
It’s a shame they don’t do ‘Soul Transplants’
or ‘Personality Cosmetic Surgery’ but they don’t.
Oooh, it’s frustrating just thinking about it
so I’m going to stop now, I’m just really relieved
that the repulsive problem isn’t mine in the slightest.
© Paul Tristram 2015
Only My Fucking Soul
No, I absolutely disagree with you!
That is not the right way of doing it at all,
it’s simply your way.
Don’t you dare try to direct me,
I have a brain of my own, you know.
I’m not being an arsehole…you are!
Who’s up in who’s biscuit here?
You don’t know what’s best for me,
stop being so ridiculous.
I don’t need your help,
there wasn’t a problem until you appeared.
I don’t need you to explain,
you’re not clearing anything up,
your just making a mess all by yourself.
You just want to see me happy, really?
Ok then, see that door over there?
Trot on through it and go bother someone else.
There’s nothing here for you
but a big old bunch of Middle Fingers.
© Paul Tristram 2015
The Phantom Sycophant (The Revenge Of!)
I’ll win your attention with fake admiration,
I’m a master at it and here’s some I prepared earlier.
Stroke your Ego’s dick just so J
until I’m the very favourite of your ‘Narcissistic Supply’
Butter you up with exaggerations,
smile widely…I mean frown deeply
and shake my condescending head caringly
when you are not getting your own way L
Aww, you are just like a pet puppy and a Superior
all rolled up into one temperamental bundle.
And when those crocodile tears don’t work
and give way to real ones, I get a cute little glimpse
of that shocking pain and vulnerability.
I see the frightened little, wounded child you really are,
all alone in that normally hidden corner of your soul
and I swear it makes me fucking drip,
I’m addicted to that pathetic, lushest bullseye, yummy!
© Paul Tristram 2015
Is This Just Your ‘Lying Sack Of Shit’ Phase?
Right outside of Superdrug in the Shopping Centre,
Christmas shoppers manic, aggressive and obnoxious,
elbow to elbow in all directions.
She stopped a little ahead of me and screamed
like ‘happening roadkill’
“Is this just your ‘Lying Sack of Shit’ phase?
because, stick a fucking fork in me, I’m so done with it!”
Then she threw the phone to the ground with a loud crack
and preceded to stamp up and down upon it.
A Security Guard rushed on over,
she wasn’t dragged away like a shoplifter
but directed away firmly by the shaking arm, muttering
“I’m so sorry but the man is killing me slowly inside
with illogical, irrational, unnecessary mind games.
I’ve swapped the love inside my heart
for a torture chamber within my poor crestfallen soul!”
© Paul Tristram 2015
***
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet.
Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1943170096
‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1326241036
And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope
at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1326415204
You can also read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/
*Photo courtesy of Brian Michael Barbeito.*
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