I'm not a poet and don't I know it!!

As documented I've been feeling a bit rubbish this last couple of weeks culminating in me getting some new meds for the increasing anxiety I've been feeling. Last night I had one of my really bad nights sleep. This usually manifests itself in me tossing and turning and lying awake reliving events in my head, or even worse pining for women I fell hopelessly in unrequited love with.

This is a bad idea. It does you no good whatsoever. I have been told before by friends and by professional counsellors that you need to do something about this. You can get up and do something, thus blocking it out or you can write your thoughts down thus expunging them from your mind, at least for that moment anyway.

Last night in my tossy turny episode I was ruminating on a young woman who I was briefly acquainted with and with whom I fell hopelessly in love. It was all unrequited of course and it really fucked me up for quite a while (I won't bore you with the details). So last night, and I wasn't pissed, I decided to write a poem for her. This was at about 1.30 in the morning and as you will see was a mistake. Although this was purely an exercise in trying to channel all the negative thoughts and energy I was experiencing and I don't have any intention of sending it to her, anyway I haven't seen her for an age and don't know where she lives.

When I looked at this poem this morning I fell about in fits of laughter. It is a really bad poem, really bad. Full of self-pity and appalling couplets. It sounded good last night when I was feeling all sorry for myself and was dreaming about what could have happened if she had decided that I was the one for her.

So as a lesson to any budding poets out there and because it is just so shit and it made me laugh, I give you my poem about unrequited love. Billy Bragg, Martha Wainwright and Morrisey eat your collective hearts out ;-) Bracketed comments are my own.

You're the itch I cannot scratch,
The star I cannot reach, (pass the sick bucket)
Like the damp unstrikeable match, (I needed something to rhyme with scratch, sorry)
Lost keys on a sandy beach.

Your memory sets me in a whirl,
Though I hardly knew you,
Like the train window girl, (I nicked the last four words off of Scott Walker)
Disappearing from view.

I could never tell you how I felt,
Nor the longing in my heart, (poor little lamb)
How your voice would make me melt, ( she wasn't a superhero so fuck knows what this means)
You had me from the start.

(Here comes the self pitying bit, get yer hankies out)

My feelings for you were all consuming, (Jesus this is shit)
Unrequited love's made that way (Er yes what's new)
It's painful return always looming (Get a bloody grip man)
It must be kept at bay (Possibly the worst last line in a poem ever, it was 2 o'clock in the morning though and I really needed a wee).

Well that's it. I think that bollocks will be melting the hearts of any women anytime soon. I should stick to lists I think.