I tried so hard to write the letter I had always wanted to write but when I sit there, with pen in hand, I dry up. Fuck me; do you think I think this stuff out? Of course not, I write like I fuck. I go round the houses and eventually hit all the right buttons and then you are mine. How deluded am I?
I tried so hard to keep my concentration but the fag ash kept falling on my lap. I sat outside my favorite cafe in Soho, just off Old Compton Street enough not to be a gay place. Why such a deluded old fucker like me sees the romance in a coffee stain on an old table lord only knows. But I run my finger round it and lick it and somehow I taste her and the words come.
I tried so hard to get away from the being me and slowly I am getting there. Have you noticed I am not such a self harm bore anymore? Rehab was 10 years ago but the marks on my arms are like they were put there yesterday and they remind me of dark corners and unspoken sins. They remind me of a 1000 wanks over her, and sticky magazines; of a bad night when I wet the bed; of the night I took too many pills and lost 4 days; of the day they took me in; of the day I looked in the mirror and saw a freak.
Damn it, there would be no need to be lonely if I could bite the pillow and think of England. But hey I love the silky taste of a female and I am thirsty for it like a man lost in a desert without water, armed only with an iPod stuck on the same old tune. That’s me, playing the same old tune; waiting at desolate bus stops but the bus ain't coming.
I tried so hard to stop Loving my Town but how can I when presented with such smells and sights and the endless possibility that I really will bump into you on the Jubilee Line interchange? The park bench above in Green Park; all the words I have written for this shit hole; my playground and ultimate lover; the only thing that keeps me sane is this old Town.I slip into the art house cinema’s and lose myself in sub titles, alone with gas less coke and dreams of a boy that I no longer am. I cling to the characters of World Cinema, for they give me hope; it’s only on exiting the cinema that I realize that I am surrounded by people I no longer know; my London taken by aliens, strangers and those who only care for the size of their fucking pay cheque.
I tried so hard to stop being a fucking deluded talentless writer just to impress you; I tried so hard to be a fucking whore in the bedroom just to save you from the thuggish drinkers of the poor club scene and fuck me shoe ladies. I tried too hard and why should I give a fuck about anything? I walked into the perfume store and asked the badly painted lady to spray your scent onto a piece of card; I inhaled it and for a second I was back with you oh and it crushed me; oh it fucked me up; how cruel the memory is..
I tried so hard to stop crying, but my eyes welled at the serenity of you. If skin was heaven then you wear god. If I could worship you it would never be enough. You have always been my alter and the church I dreamt of building; one day the Moon will give up, it will see the fruitlessness in sharing a world with you; the sun will go out and cry ash; he will say, ‘I never knew she was here and my heat so wasted’.
I tried so hard to see you. I could see the back of your head in a crowded high street where I was stuck behind a 1000 people with their boring shopping bags, and they would not let me pass. You turned a corner and were gone. Was it you or had I just smelt the scent of your sweet perfume and my sad lonely mind just made her into you? Sadly the latter will be the truth for you died ten years ago and I sit here with a coffee stain being admired by gay men and writing my words; one of the guys said, ” You look like a thug but carry a pen that bleeds the ink of heartbreak...”
I tried so hard to put you to sleep once and for all, to end the memories of our ferocious fucking and colour by number loving; oh babe I can get the words out and they define me and cover me in shit, but they make me smell of flowers. I died in your eyes more than once and even saw a reflection of a better me; I saw my eyes and they were not so bad; I loved then and was someone; was part of something; the staples in my book...
I tried so hard to get the real me to show up but this clown kept appearing and he had a black tear falling from one eye and he was me as a boy; how I cry for him, for the me that once molded faces from potatoes and dreamed of fairies; who thought that Dorothy was real and that tornado's would take us all to a better place; who thought that I would one day touch the hand of a woman who loves me; but I lost her in the haze of cigarette smoke and excuses; in the grotesque mind that was taken by demons; too many spliffs, too many late nights...
I tried so hard to be the magician who could put a smile on your face by producing flowers from a hat but you are more beautiful than any flower and what moves me to tears may just bore you.I tried so hard to be a man just for one day but still ended up being this ugly cunt that people laugh at and no one wants; fuck them, I can use the words moon and cunt in one piece so its them who are lacking...
I tried so hard to write a symphony in words for you but this was the best I could do; you are worth a symphony so.......how dare I give you this?
Written and © Owned by © T A Roberts 2007