Bulletboy -08 august 2005
Monday 08 august 09:54
Back in Manchester
its weird being here so early I’ m rarely out before noon these days I just sit in my room I’ m not even sure why I bother getting dressed anymore. I know its starting to get to my mum but she’s biting her tongue (a trait I picked up at an early age ).the only time she even bothers to try and talk to me is to comment on how I look like "death" and need to eat more or to deliver letters from Dallas .If it wasn’t for him I would be almost one hundred percent sure I was adopted .Dallas is 21 he’s my older brother but we have always been more like friends we told each other everything and I was the first to notice he was using. of course I didn’t expect my father to notice he’s a shadow of the man he used to be he has the look of a someone who have had their dreams stolen from them on more than once .he had his heart set on being a musician as a kid but soon after meeting my mother she became pregnant with Dallas and he had to get a job in an office. After I was born the money situation was even worse but in an attempt to give my mother the family she dreamed of he worked crazy hours at a job he hated and within years the cracks had started to show. From his yo-yoing weight to his unexplainable familiarity with pouring drinks I watched him handle the bottles with experience and a scary confidence for a man who was only a "special occasion" drinker. He strived to fund the lifestyle my mother longed for and worked late most nights to furnish the house she loved more than she loved him.
One day when I was eleven I came home to them arguing this was something I was used to but I was confused as to why my father was home so early. As I sat in the front room I heard the story unfold my father had been seeing his co-worker or "hoe-bag family wrecker" as I remember my mother saying and had come to say he was leaving. My mother was a strong person so it gave me a sickening feeling watching her grovel at my father’s feet like that and even worse to watch him ignore it. Later that night I was told father was going to be "working away" for a while and that if anybody asked he was in a new office in Scotland. on the day of his return a couple of months later my mother kissed his cheek and asked how Scotland was, he grumbled something about being the same as Manchester and just as expensive. family life settled back into what mother deemed expectable and we acted as though it had never happened, no matter how many times my father left us she would always take him back .this is the way my mother deals with things she fills in the cracks and smoothes the creases so much so that she actually believes it herself. It’s painful to watch but what’s even worse is how like her I ‘am.
When Dallas got put away I was shocked to find myself telling people he was "working away" or "out of town”. He wasn’t a bad kid he just had his way of dealing things, when dad started to get aggressive towards mum and him he took it quite badly. I remember one night I followed him out of the house I watched him pick up his board and make for the ramps at the park round the corner. When I got there he was as I had imagined throwing himself into the most complicated flips and tricks he hit the floor over and over again but still got up and carried on. I longed to go over and comfort him but as I knew too well it was best to leave him to it, blood trickled from his head knees and arms he wiped his eyes on his t-shirt and walked over to a group of guys. It was like a slap in the face watching him hand over a wad of notes for a bag of blow. my eyes prickled with tears and I was suddenly aware that I was stood in the middle of a park at midnight with no shoes on and no jacket and this guy who I had shared a room with for 15 years but didn’t recognise anymore. That night I ran round to your house scaled the trellis opened your window and climbed into the familiar pink powdery smelling comfort of your bedroom. It only occurred to me when you opened your eyes that I was stood at the foot of your bed shivering tears rolling down my cheeks with bits of branch in my hair. But whatever I do no matter how extreme it never seems to faze you.
The following morning I wrote a song for you .as I sat and let my bleeding heart run on to the paper I never dreamt what would become of the scrawled confessions of a broken heart from a broken family.
Bulletboy-10 august 2006
Wednesday 10 august 5:00
This may only be a line in a song and I know im no curt cobain
Its only four cords and a chorus but I hope it wont be in vain
I could be your Romeo if you’d only let me try
And you could be my Juliet but I won’t let you die
I don’t have much to offer just this simple song
And my love that I assure you is guaranteed life long
Im just a broken heart from a broken home
Just a broken heart that’s scared to be alone
But I could be your Romeo if you’d only let me try
And you could be my Juliet but I wont let you die
Empty promises
Its words that’s all it is ………………………..words don’t mean jack ****
Bulletboy-11august 2006
Thursday 11 august 22:43
Red sky is that Sheppard’s delight?
All the colours are so harsh now my rose tinted glasses have been shattered
Love is a tricky thing how do you know when your with the right person?
Well the way I see it if your willing to give up the chance of meeting “the one” just for a little longer with the person your with your onto a good thing. and you never really know if your with “the one” ………………………… well not until its too late anyway. It doesn’t matter if it hurts to be with them sometimes because it always hurts to be without them.
That’s what I had with you .
That’s what I lost.
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