My London gig singing debut (read poetry and stories before). Purposefully invited no one I knew to see if I could do it alone without support. The crowd kinda ignored it and talked through it but I’m glad I did it. Tracking down an open mic night on the day was surprisingly tricky!
You step out on the Tube and it’s Halloween,
And you get more scared then you’ve ever been,
Because you can’t tell who’s in costume anymore.
Serenaded by drunken harpies as you head towards the door.
You look around you and it’s all a trap,
Broken fingers crawl out of the rail-side gap.
And grab to reach your soul is terrified,
You jump but it’s worse on the other side.
A tumbling wreck looks quite surprised,
To feel cobwebs grow in place of eyes.
The lights are burning bright,
But you hope it doesn’t get darker tonight.
Werewolves, moving stair wolves, braided hair wolves, soon intensive care wolves howling in the air wolves and it’s just the same outside,
No place to hide, because there it’s worse the walls close in and become your hearse.
To take you out of town, but in the suburbs everyone’s already dead,
They’ve been zombified for years, commuting to careers,
But it drove them mad, and now you’re glad you’re in the depths of hell instead.
Don’t choose limbo choose a torture bed…it’s fun.
And you’re gonna die, but you’ll be sweatier and happier you think.
The world’s a mess, before you get to blink.
You stumble to a pub past ghosts and ghouls,
The bartender must think you’re a living fool.
You haven’t got the message right tonight.
It’s a fright to be the only human being in her sight.
Your veins are pulsing with a stubborn thud,
You grab a drink but they just serve blood.
You try to pour it down,
your lungs would rather drown,
So you head back out into the crazy town and find the streets on fire all around.
The flames are tearing up the skyline, everyone is thinking what on Earth is this?
I know it’s Halloween but this just takes the piss.
You see a woman burning and her clothes are loose,
She looks like she’s dressed up as a roasted goose.
And her panic’s understandable,
As her costume is quite flammable.
As she kisses her boyfriend he catches alight as well.
Though he’s an alcohol doused fireball, they’re a good match you can tell.
He doesn’t break out of his flaming binge,
And he says he likes the look of her singey ginger fringe.
With so much lust and trust he’s hardly fussed,
That they’re turning a decade of love to dust.
His lips taste just like acid, her breath it smells like death,
While she’s cackling, her skin is crackling and soon there’s only jewellery left.
Ants and beasties crawling from the drains,
Creep towards the flames and feast on brains.
There’s plenty to go round but they’ve all been numbed on the flaming ground.
It’s like a game of tag with a burning rag.
And everyone is getting on the barbecue,
Everyone that is, apart from you.
You run to the park past a herd of rats,
Maybe that’s why all the women are dressed as cats.
The moon is burning in the sky, and it’s quite a pretty place to die,
The crowd is having fun you’re almost trying, but your lack of fire leaves you crying.
Everybody’s dancing they don’t seem to care the end is coming soon,
The street’s like a fire-pit, stoked with boozey tomb
and mixed with dancing room there’s happiness instead of doom and gloom.
So you push apart, and you pull right through,
The fire nearly swallows you, but you seem immune.
You slap yourself from missing out, and feel the jaws burst from within,
You’re suddenly on fire and it feels like a sick but saintly sin.
You look around the town’s as pretty as it’s surely ever been,
Is this Halloween or a sexy dream?
Should you smile or simply run and scream?
You keep your eyes swollen and open,
To never lose this sight.
But then a far too cosy skeleton
shakes your hand and you blink it off in a fright.
Is this Halloween or a Saturday night?
Are you drunk on fumes or a hellish light.
An ambulance it rushes past,
You thought you knew this feeling couldn’t last
A couple flee the flames, head to the river,
Where the tentacles with fish-heads sliver.
Are these joyful or regretful tears,
Battersea burns like it’s been forty years.
And the chimneys tumble to submission,
Did the demons get the right planning permission?
You walk through the dark till you see a spark…
And become a firecracker over Battersea Park.