/bʌɪˈpəʊlə/

adjective

1. 1.

   having or relating to two poles or extremities.
2. 2.

   (of psychiatric illness) characterized by both manic and depressive episodes, or manic ones only.

there is no way i could ever spill everything i hold in you on to a page, i could never curve words around the shape of your jaw, or your light breath edging closer to a snore, when you are pressed so close to me, even in sleep still clutching so tight. i could never speak of you right, not in a light anything other than dim glow, i could never speak the words without them appearing slow, calculated. but see there is nothing calculated about this, there is nothing malicious about us, nothing scripted or offered as false. i have given you every single crevice of me, all of the jagged parts of my mind, the depths of my unconscious, the lengths of my shallow fears. i would give you anything that you needed, anything i could offer, i would in an instant. Sometimes i can't believe i am part of something so perfect, so pure, so untainted and so sure. i have never been sure of anything before. always second guessing, always looking for an alternative when failure strikes. but there is no alternative to you, this is my whole life. it's laid bare for me to see, it just you and me. i'm going to keep you close forever, i'm never going to let you stray behind. I'll always be running to catch you up if you fall into a quick stride. there is nothing else in this world that i am perfectly and entirely sure of. but i am sure of you, i'd put everything of myself, everything that i have in you. i love every single crevice of you, i love every fleeting moment with you.

morning
wake up, close my eyes, open my eyes, close my eyes, plunge my face into a pillow, stand up, drudge down cold stairs, smoke, drink juice,  orange puke, brush my teeth, look in the mirror, try to decipher who is peering back at me, vomit in the sink, wash it down with clear water.
old habits die hard, new habits die harder.

the weight pressing upon me is enormous
the strain on my thoughts are becoming too much
my imagination is becoming too furious
i'm starting to believe I can't keep hold of something this good
i'm so terrified of dying
i'm so terrified of eveything

you crawled up inside and now you won't go, you won't leave 
and i thought i saw you last night, woven around me, tangled between my sheets
i felt you crying, heavy flagging, hiding back beneath my sleeve
the windows smashed inside, crashed up, stopped dangling over the eave 
i've started to doubt it, started to believe this isn't all it promised to be
and now something's shielding you, something silent is screaming at me
to stop

17.03.11

today i cried, a crumpled heap on the floor
that feeling washed over me again
i don't want to think about it anymore
i can't keep thinking of the how and when
it's like however hard i try to fool, to distract myself
my thoughts are endlessly edging back to ill health
and when they fall firm on a moment it makes me sick
right down into the pit of my stomach
it's like one deafening blow, one sharp hit
right down into the depths of my chest
and i'm left a cracked, beaten, a mess
i couldn't do this whole thing without you
i couldn't open my eyes again without you
there would be no tomorrow if you were stolen from today
i am strong, i am balanced and i fight
but there would be a little less than nothing left inside
i would shift into vapor so rapidly, so entirely
and it's not metaphor, it's not a possibility
it's all truth and all promise. if you leave, i'll be close behind
i'm sorry sweetheart i know that you would mind
but the world would crush me and i'd never be found
so if you go, you won't be without me for much time
i'll be running, sprinting, fumbling to wrap your hand back around mine

there's a river inside me.

untitled.

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!”

I think I have started to realise how much people underestimate the finality of death.  It has become such a normality, so revisited, so reviewed, such a topic of conversation that we don't really register it as truth. I think we forget that when it comes, that when you die, that when your heart falters, and you taste breath for the last time, you don't get another year after that, you don't get another ten, it's not a test run for the real deal. When you die, you're done. That is it.
That is all the time you had. That is everything you ever did. That is every memory you ever made. That is every time you ever laughed. Every time you ever said 'hi'. That is everyone you ever knew, that is everyone you never made the time to meet. That is her, that is him, that is the one that you held dearest. That is the one you loved the most, the one you loved so much your heart could just explode, the one you could not do without. That is every time you ever danced. That is your favourite movie. That is the best sex you ever had. That is your first car. That is your favourite song. That is your best friend. That is it. It's gone.

So just take a moment, take one minute out of your miserable, wasted life and think. Think about the concept of this moment being your last, consider the possibility that after you have wrapped up this thought your mind goes blank and that is it, there's no time to reflect on what you were thinking, there is no time to come to a conclusion, there is no time to get up and go to the bathroom after this thought. There is no time to look at the clock and wonder what time you should go to sleep tonight, or to ponder what you might have for lunch tomorrow, or what you might wear on Saturday night. There is no time for you to google pictures of a place that you will never fucking visit, or think about someone that you wont ever fucking talk to, there's no time for you to trawl through your facebook and look at pictures of other people's life. Because that is it, that is all the time that you were allowed to live. It is a very real possibility. It is not entirely out of the question that tonight might be the last night you spend alive. With that in mind, what the fuck are you doing with your time? What the fuck am I doing with my time. What have you done in the last week that has made you truly happy, what have you done to enrich yourself? Did you buy a new shirt? Fucking good for you. Did you give your change to a homeless person? Oh well done give yourself a pat on the back. Have you made a difference? Have you made yourself proud? Do you feel all full up? When was the last time you kissed the person you love like your life depended on it?  When was the last time you kissed someone full stop? When was the last time you told your dad you love him? When was the last time you walked out on something you don't give a shit about? When was the last time you stood up for someone? When was the last time you had nothing to complain about? When was the last time you cleared out your bank and left town, just because... why the fuck not? When was the last time you didn't feel tired? When was the last time you did everything you ever said you would do? When was the last time you didn't make an excuse for not taking a chance? Stop wasting your time on anything that you don't believe in, stop wasting your time on people that you don't like. Find something better to do with your time. You hate your job, fucking quit. You hate your wife, get a divorce. You hate your life, fucking change it. This isn't a badly organised dress rehearsal and you just know that on the day it will be much better... Stop kidding yourself! Fucking man up, this is it! This is your life. This is all you fucking get! Stop wasting it!

When you wake up, and you can't remember how you got there or why. It's time to leave. Whether it's leaving a loved one, leaving a lifestyle, or just leaving town.