Ink, Paper (and other things that keep me sane)

Image

If you look at the buildings
          (from the outside),
You’ll see the windows
         (all two
         -hundred-and-fifty-one of
         them).
Mine’s the one in the top corner.
         (the one with the light on).
Read into that what you will
         (I
         mean it literally)
I’m the only one awake
         (that’s literal
         too).

If you approach my building
         (one of
         those in the middle of
         nowhere),
It’s the one with the bins outside
         (not that one, that one).
I’m on the top floor
         (someone
         will let you in the front
         door);
Climb the stairs up to Floor 2
         (sorry, there’s no lift),
Floor 3 if you’re American
         (well, I don’t know who you
         are, do I?)

When you hit that floor
         (whatever you’re calling that
         floor),
Go to Flat 7
         (it’s the only one on the floor),
Let yourself in
         (the code is 0251).
Go to my room
         (the one with the door open),
And just walk in
         (it’s unlocked for a reason).
You’ll know it’s my room
         (I’ve already explained this);
It’s the one with the cold radiator
         (not broken, it’s switched off
         by choice),
Books stacked on the shelves
         (most of them unread),
Dirty clothes piled in a basket
         (laundry is expensive),
And a slight smell of Guinness
         (and sweat).

If I’m not there
         (there’s a distinct possibility of
         this),
Check the kitchen
         (the place with as many snide
         notes as plates and food)
Before looking at the ground outside
of my bedroom window
         (the bastard thing won’t open
         wide enough for that).

I’ll likely be in the kitchen
         (perched pretentiously on the
         work-surface between the window
         and the oven)
With pen and paper
         (doing nothing academic),
Scratching my mind onto the pages
         (it’s only a small notebook).

You’ll see me look up
         (you’re quite the novelty at this
         hour)
And acknowledge you
         (it would be rude not to),
Before returning to my black ink
         (and brackets),
Dismissing your presence as an hallucination
         (or a fantasy).

These thoughts are not
                  (original),
Nor is this
                  (format)
But they seem to keep me
                  (relatively sane).

I’m a genius, a revelation
                           (or a dickhead).
That’s up to
                           (you).

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About DickensianJack

Born in Wolverhampton in November '93, moved to Huddersfield in September 2012. Studying at the University of Huddersfield. In love with the town - simple as that. As for the blog itself, I've been doing bits and pieces of writing (with varying quality) for a few years. A friend suggested I start a blog to share my work. Most of the stuff on here is poems, but there's other work interspersed on the page. Feel free to leave any comments on my work. Twitter: @DickensianJack (Jack Dickens) Facebook: www.facebook.com/dickensianjack Cheers, enjoy.
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