Piers Harrison​-​Reid - Little Boy Lost

from by Some Kind Of Poetry Thing

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He was lino floors and piss,
Battleship childhood: Hit and Miss
Mother never loved him or sis
But their bite only worsened that snakes hiss

His alarm was already set to 5 past pride,
As lucid darkness surrounds his sleeping tides.
Late -not never- can still smell that cigar,
And this day can open skylights: he can fly far.

He already got stoned now he wants sticks,
Wants to move from the time wasting, build, fix.
Now he’s matured, grown, started stacking up bricks.
Yearns to dwell in the mud that love inflicts.

Still all pride and anger; part fists and frowns.
Slowly drowns beneath the dusty dead of this town.
Just bumbling blindly through self-pity and lust.
Trying to futilely fuck out all the fear and disgust.

But those wet eyed wanderers just steamed open his heart,
exposed his insides to the air without tearing his world apart,
always left him singing-sore and lonely; giving guilt like a gift,
yet he hopes that somehow they’ll help his low life lift.

But that umbilical noose from his new born nights
hangs his heart from the highest tree,
without it how can he learn to love?
Without it can he be free?

‘Cause he’s just paddling wayward down her birth canal of hate,
unrelentingly coating everything he appreciates,
while the whirlpool of her maiming maternal memory still holds him from allhe can be.
‘Cause he’s tired of blaming mummy for the things he feels but cannot see,
He’s tired of dropping mad heartbeats over 2-tones alone,
And dragging from unused utility belts, jagged pieces of broken homes.

He sees old friends sporting the hair they used to hate on,
Wearing sad-satchels and skinnies. A few years back, would never don.
While waiting in lines, feet-found-fake dirty converse,
Spouting same old indie-chic shit: Well versed.
By now they know it like the back of a celeb’s hand,
Yet pretend to break from the system- New age Jeb Rand

And yet, after all the hypocrisy and change and time in this city,
And after boring through the shitty-nitty-gritty,
He still gives half-hearted shout-outs to his dogs,
(RUFF-RUFF-RUFF). But their slobber just drips from their hanging gobs,
Tin teeth tearing at the grip they forced him to get,
And dreaming about his walled in walkover tendencies before they even met.
As they pant with waiting, hungry eyes,
Running when they realise he has nothing left to give, besides
Where were they when he waded; deep shit: well above thighs,
And yet he still doesn’t discover time to dutifully despise,
And yes, he understands that we all must look after that important ‘self’
But should friendship not be friendship no matter what wealth,
Luck, time, or new mindset we possess?
A helping hand, supporting shoulder, freedom from stress,
Are surely priceless, which makes them precious,
So we should take pride in our auspiciousness.

But that is...Whatever,
Today we’re discussing, him.
He who finally found out that kissing mirrors isn’t truly a sin,
For self love is the first step to loving all in this world- our home.
Yes... today he is the winning end of a wishbone,
He whom now knows that though laziness is merely premature rest,
All can sleep when Grim strokes sweet scythes over chests.
He who has learnt to catch the eye of the slowest storm,
After that eye contact left others blinded and torn.
He shall ride this horseback to the stable of birth,
As he dances carefree over the country of mirth.


from Speak Think, released July 1, 2012



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