Free Coffee

Every sense is being eroded away
by this stale atmosphere
until I become just another grey face
answering the phone
realising that I've achieved nothing
and never will.
They provide us with free coffee
which we're supposed to be grateful for
but all it does is heighten the despair.
The only way out of this place is up the corporate ladder
-- where you'll get to harvest fresh souls --
or suicide.
These thoughts make me feel masochistic
so I grab a free coffee
it makes me want to shit.
I slip away to the toilet
it won't flush
I look at the bowl:
it says more than any yearly review
and I know it's time to knot the noose.

Damn Condition

This damn condition comes and goes
laying any foundations to my life is impossible
it renders me impotent to aspirations
forces me to live in the present
whilst running up a debt to the future.

I grab wildly at scraps of happiness
with no thought for those it hurts
as long my ego can be massaged
it’s a few moments of relief
where I can hold my head high.

My neck aches from looking over my shoulder
not just at what’s coming
but what I’ve left in my wake
a self esteem in tatters
and a soul not far behind.

Only one thing keeps me going:
one day I held my Grandad’s war pistol to my temple
helped up there by a bottle of Blue Label Smirnoff
when I suddenly had an epiphany:
how uneventful would life be without misery?

Cornered by Ambition

My grip on ambition is slowly loosening

each passing day is relentless toil

all the trappings are out of reach

the procrastination of my youth shames me

my current destination appalls me.

No more irons in the fire

reticent from being burnt in the past

by my own laziness.

Blame the world

from behind my directionless life

heading towards a forgetful oblivion.

A strong man wants to be remembered

by making his mark

so he’ll be talked about in years to come

like all my heroes

but only one in a million is a hero

leaving many thousands of cowards.

Maybe I can write my way out of this

avoid this faceless future

leave my mark

get the respect I crave from those I despise

or just give up

and await retirement.

Solidarity

Solidarity is a false security
no two men have the same mind
subscribe to your own madness
let it take you to the very brink
look beyond the chaos
at everyone else
in similar boats
but crowded
with no room to breathe
relax back into your alienation
pour a drink
raise it to your soul
laugh.

Another 40 Years

I’m quietly reflecting with a Guinness

black, Dublin velvet in the corner of a pub booth

the rain is hammering down outside

shading the day with a miserable hue

work is a good half day away

I’m in Heaven

a group of old men hold court in the next booth

they’re talking of landlords past

Tommy Mochran was always dapper

but then they all were back then

I look at the bar to find the current landlord

this chainpub has no landlord

just a succession of business graduates

with no time to have beers waiting for the regulars

they’re too busy working out profit margins

these old men seem ridiculously happy

too old to work

too young to worry about death

they look forward to each day

they’re much like me when I was 18

this resemblance fills me with hope

maybe one day I’ll recapture that exuberance

the last decade’s worn it away

perhaps due to unrealistic expectation

did these old men have similar worries?

it’s easy to say they were from a more simple time

but I’m sure they wanted to put more than bread on the table

they wanted to nail that centrefold to it as well

I’ll find out the answer one day

but first I have to pay my dues

rushing out into the rain

to face life head on

for another 40 years.