Time to Ride….

So all things must come to pass. As I approach a stable period of my bipolar I’ve decided to set up another blog and discuss there the things that bipolar doesn’t define about me. I may mention it in passing but I have a huge amount to say about other things other than bipolar.

No doubt, I’ll have my ups and downs so I’ll occasionally put my Poetry here but even that I’m taking mostly back into the personal realm as I’m preparing a poetry submission for Faber & Faber and some other publishers.

The new blog is simply for my thoughts on the world from my closet corner of England.

So those still with me here’s the link;

Last Human Standing




Hear no, See no, Speak no.

The 3 things that have helped most attain peaceful times in my bipolar world, discreet ear defenders (hear no evil), taking my glasses off and embrace the fuzziness (see no evil), not passing judgment so quickly (speak no evil)… Obviously the first two don’t apply while driving.

Peace D

Mr Self Destruct

Not my title, you can blame Trent Reznor for that. I now have the joyful task of putting my life back together after burning every bridge I could get my flame thrower to.

Some of them I fear are beyond repair, permanently destroyed by a mind that wasn’t designed for this world. Odd how I crave peace so much but can only seem to get it by taking myself away from people. Maybe I should find a cave.

Peace D


It’s one thing that you grace my presence, its another to take it all for granted. I have a face that you never see but you say my love is all that you wanted.

Thanks for the words but without the slightest of touch, it’s a hollow heart and as my hand slips from yours it doesn’t seem like much.

Thanks but did you notice I was dead on the inside, the petals of our courtship falling down, while my soul glides…

… Looking for tribe, a place to belong. A safe space, trying to keep holding on.

The air cools and I inhale, breathe, the slight pounding of my heart reminding me that I’m actually alive. I dread the dawn and wonder how I will survive.

Everything I had I gave to you, now that’s gone and I’m running on fumes, is there any space left in your soul before I pull this trigger … Boom.

D March 2017


Of course I could make it all better by stopping these pills and stopping pretending to be ill. I’m sick of your outdated attitude that mental illness could be stopped by the power of will.

Of course the royals are great and these new fangled computers will seal our fate. Don’t you know it’s you not the world that is out of date.

And yes it’s the immigrants who are stealing all our jobs. And those on the claim are ignorant slobs.

I could give you a million pound in gold and you would moan that its wasn’t made in Britain and as good as what they made in the 60s. To you I’m just a burnt out waste of space playing sickly.

But you forget the legacy you leave me and my children. A burnt out planet and a suicidal kingdom. I pity you for what you can’t see, and stigma you project will not hurt me.

D March 2017

Of mice and demons

Whistle down lane,

Welcome the caged insane,

Spare no words for the lame,

Never the same again.

Quivering in their beds,

All the things she said,

Pied Piper who lead,

Into mind valley dead.

Hotel California,

We’re coming for you,

Part of the formula,

Last of few who knew that,

Demons have made their pacts,


This is the madhouse …

… For you to be used like a lab mouse.

D March 2017


You said you needed me to almost insure your existence. I’m sure that this is what they meant by codependency.

You still rendered nightmares nightly, with reinforced doors against unseen persecutions. You gave me arms to hold me while I carried on my electrocutions.

Wired to the world twenty four seven, I was no joy ride, a step for you to heaven. Then I’m reminded if tonight is my last breath, as my mind from this relationship had already left.

They’ve come for me now my dear and I need to run, I know I left you staring for hope, directly at the sun.

D March 2017


I’ve watched stars falling, I’ve seen gods stalling, by your unholy words spoken, even the dead would be woken.

So now I think its time to tell you, I’m just a friend who cares for what you do, ripping out my heart to rescue yours, but your mind is so many broken doors.

When is the right time to let go, when life just imprints it must be so, that you’ve been raided so many times and I cannot erase another’s crime.

So I’m left with this scene, you and me and the inbetween. Leave you at the mercy of fate, but for that there’s always going to be a part of me I hate.

For you could have of been a butterfly, instead you turned out a mantis, more important to rip my head off, than let yourself try for bliss.

D March 2017