Stutter

You broke.

I fell.

Fractured scenery.

Splintered mind.

I broke.

You fell.

Hyperviolet.

Scattered words.

I stand.

Sitting.

Fallen.

I broke.

I fell.


By Ben Jones

My Unborn Tapestry

The string unravels as I think upon it.

My train of thought is speeding down a path I thought impossible, hacking away at the tangled vines of my psyche like a jungle guide with a machette...

The putrid smell of old memories finds my nostrils, and I wretch for a second, but find my nerve again, and grip the string tighter.

I won't lose this everything again.

Watching myself become myself through everyone else's eyes will tear your soul apart, but your failures are your strengths and your existence a paradox, our celestial bodies intertwined with superstrings and spiderwebs of time and space all comforting and placating, and


THIS JUST DOES NOT REPLICATE WITH ITSELF.

It is merely the result of two totally independant and unrelated actions, an uncalculable formula of

consequence after

consequence after

consequence after

consequence after

consequence.


This string unravels as I think along it.


By Ben Jones

I Have No One To Blame But Myself

I waited and waited.

The rain dripped down my forehead, and the light bounced off the wet tarmac,

And I waited.

I watched the street come alive with colours and people and sights and sounds,

And I waited.

The car tyres sputtered water in my face as they talked, and the people played mime with each other in living rooms,

And I waited.

The night grew old, and the day grew new,

And I waited.

Dogs stopped to chat, tell me about their day, and cats looked quietly on,

And I waited.

I found myself, and I lost myself, and I found myself again,

And I waited.

I grew impatient and struck out at that car with that music driving through that puddle and splashing me,

And I waited.

I saw the truth in front of my very eyes,

And I waited.

I lied to myself over and over again, and began to believe myself,

And I waited.

I asked a stranger,

"Do you have some spare change?"

And he was kind enough to lend me the money.

He directed me to the phone box.

I called.

I'm still waiting.


By Ben Jones

Sleeping in the Rain

Blurred sounds come into focus,

A drumming on the window,

And tired eyelids yawn back into my head.


A grey warmth fills the room,

Like a sombre memory,

With a comfort of knowing,

It was you that experienced it.


Lie here for a moment.


Soak up this tranquility,

This utter stillness.

Like my own bubble has been made real.


Slip quietly between my dreamworld and this,

And it's like nothing could disturb me.


Glide down stairs,

The whole house still,

Relaxed.


And time slips like a gently growing pool of water,

Unstoppable, steady, slow...

Just the way I like it.


It's like someone custom made a day for me,

And tied it up with rain...


By Ben Jones

Angry for no reason at all

You all laugh,

And you only serve to stoke the fire.

Your mocking smiles are killing me in ways I dream of ending you, like a pressure on my frontal lobe.

Expanding til it covers my whole field of view, cerebral hatred spawned from instability and the inability to do anything about it.

Even your voice is irritating.

It makes my blood boil and my eyes itch, but I don't even know you...

Like a shiver in my spine I can't shift, it leaves me on edge and nervous...

And I'm angry for no reason at all.


By Ben Jones

The King Is Dethroned...

A shadow descends upon the crowd as they look on in wonder at the spectacle before them. Encrusted in jewels, their god is sacrificed by the weight of self obsession amongst his followers, and they realise too late it was they who killed him.

The purple mist shrouds the dancers on the stage, clothing them in an ethereal skin and reflecting their inner desires, but they can only see themselves, and they revel in it. It was beautiful to see, yet heart wrenching to watch, as the king was torn of his crown and his memory was thrown against the wall

tattered

torn

defiled

Yet he still believes. He still struggles.

And the crowd grow impatient, baying for blood, thirsting for slaughter;
But the silence that trails from his mouth satisfies them none at all, and he knows it.

Tattered, torn, and defiled, he stands defiant as his last breath crawls between his teeth...

An Evening In...

Slipping

quietly

between the sheets,

I find company in my solitude,
and understanding where before there was only pity.

Now I realise this is real and this has substance yet the sentences in my head remain in my head, and time

ticks

slowly

by.

I'm not gonna let it slip past me again, but I can't seem to force the syllables still glued to the inside of my skull, and I rot from the inside out watching it all unfold before my very eye.

I still can't find the words to stop this slipping like sand dunes.

I was always told perfection lasts a moment, but it's five days and counting and I couldn't wish for a better view.

By Ben Jones

He Made Me Dance

Commanding the machine like it was a puppet, before me he laid out the land I had all but envisioned and prophesised. Beyond me, he pulled on beats like they were the strings that tied the universe together, and the whole world made sense again. Beats that pulled my own strings, making me move like an epileptic in the throes of a Grande Mal... I loved every second, and in each of those seconds came the meaning of life; a second later, it meant nothing. Pull machinist, pull my strings and make me realise myself...


By Ben Jones