Treasure Island

GRANT FRASER

(JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

Simple To Be


I try and listen to others,
the messed up generations,

I sit and talk, wear what's
left of my heart, on my sleeve,

because I want to trust this difficult
sense of unworthiness that I too
carry,

the world is not owned by anybody,
and I think a lot of people are just
completely fake,

and that goes right up, to the top!

there is no king in this kingdom
nor is there a queen,

royal is not the same as noble,

my heart bleeds when the whole
beautiful possibility opens itself up,

when I am alive and nowhere to be seen,

but by myself I feel certain origins,
of all people who have trampled this
lonely earth, and passed on,
a quintessence of blood,

and if my heart beats too hard, or I die,
or everything is dust, in the blink of an eye,

I need to scratch my tongue, taste blood,
urges soaked in spittle, i don't know sometimes
where to go - next?

why does hope, melt like wax? ,

Death I'd say your looking much thinner today....
what was that - your going to have a panic attack?

why despair, when there's absolutely nothing there...

that's the vacuum...

fear always finds another way in,
overturns what stability is left,

time - you beautiful rotten old thing,

always waiting to define me,

can't get my words out,
and my reason is spilled,

I push imaginary other me's off cliffs,
hurl them in front of trucks,

swallow whole chunks of vertigo!

yes the hieroglyph 'fear',

must know me...

Submitted: Friday, November 01, 2013
Edited: Saturday, November 02, 2013

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