Cling, cling, cling.
Flop, flop, flop.
Ding, ding, ding.
Drop, drop, drop.
The screen blinks,
My brain drivels.
The colours *****,
My cells shrivel.
Cling, cling, cling.
Drop, drop, drop.
Why can't I stop, stop, stop.

My q w e r t y are quiet.
The keys are all letters,
No words.
Keeping silent,
Lying soundless.
Black plastic squares,
Metallic silver river,
Flowing around.
Dull.
Leaving me mute.
Leaving me bound.

The hand on time,
Is not, not mine.
Moving the dial,
Not moving the dial,
Not moving the dial.
So I stay,
Rotating round and round,
Into the ground, into the ground.
I'm planted, no roots, no bark,
Half buried, half alive.

I didn't say yes,

One in my head said: “No!”.

I wanted to stay,

One in my head said: “Go!”.

One in my head never rests,

Keeping my slumber at bay.

Crowding my days with weariness,

Incessantly buzzing away.

My life passes by, day after day,

One in my head is merry and gay.

My life passes by, night after night,

One in my head is full of delight.

Trapped,
Inside.
A wall of glass around.
And the world is blind.
I watch it move,
Go on without me,
Living me behind,
Inside my wall of glass,
To find my own way out.

Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one breath,
One breath, holding all the air,  
Away from me,
Turning me blue.
Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one taste,
One taste, holding all the flavour,  
Away from me,
Turning me stale.
Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one ray,
One ray, holding all the light,
Away from me,
Turning me dark.
Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one tomorrow,
One tomorrow, holding all the rest.  
Every day of my life is holding one tomorrow.

When memory is wrong.
When morality is dusty.
When time is long.
When hope is rusty.
When dignity is pliable.
When dreams are after dark.
When faith is liable.
When life is full of marc.
Old.

Erasing my days.
My minutes,
My seconds,
My hours,
Erased.
Then,
Recycling my new, empty days.

Picture, picture, picture,
Vision, vision, one,
Two, three, hundred,
Chasing me with a gun.
Visions, hundreds, chasing,
My mind is a Zoetrope.
I'm losing my mind, is losing me,
No mind, a kaleidoscope.

One tile, Square and white,
Repetitive, blank and slight.
Reflecting me, not right quite.
One tile, cemented tight,
Surrounding tiles, left and right,
Reflecting me, just in spite.
One tile, by the bight,
Early morning, late, late night,
Reflecting back, a sore, sore sight.
One tile.
Square and white.

Wall one for my pictures.
Wall two for my words.
Wall three for my structure.
Wall four for my hoards.
Wall one for my times.
Wall two for my space.
Wall three for my dimes.
Wall four for my pace.
Wall one is falling.
Wall two coming loose.
Wall three is squalling.
Wall four for my noose.

Inside out,

Soft and pink,

Raw and clawed.

Inside out,

Skinned and scratched,

Scarred and flawed.

I have words countless,
Yet none that I can say.
I have thoughts abundant,
Though all in disarray.
Ideas I have some,
I keep them in my head.
Dreams I have enough,
I leave them in my bed.
I carry on moving,
Dropping as I do,
Little crumbs of abstracts,
In the light of moon.

All my vim is leaking,
Dripping slowly out.
Salted vitality,
Etching streaks of drought.
Leaving me barren,
Deficient of birr,
In need of my ardor,
With nothing but blur.

My head has separated from my body,
Rolling on the ground,
Getting kicked around.
My thoughts turning and churning,
Losing their place,
Losing perspective,
Losing their sense.
The world is twisting and warping,
Losing its purpose,
Losing proportion,
Losing its whence.

The middle of the night is gone,
No longer around,
No longer surround,
Just some fragments lingering pre dawn.
Around me, surrounding me.
Lightless, brightless darkness.
And I'm here, restless, sleepless,
Really need to wee.

It's all in the fine print,
At the edge of the page.
The do's and the don'ts,
The ex and the next.
My life as a manual with written consent.

Soundless, voiceless howl.
Untouching, unstirring, unfound.
Smashing the air inside my lungs,
Catapulting dying oxygen crumbs.
Performing the gasping melody chime.
Drowning me in a pond of brine.

I want to not be my current self.
I want to be someone else, someone else.
I'm under the mountain, still and again.
I'm under the mountain, a mountain of pain.
And the mountain is heavy, more than before.
I'm unmovable, unbreathable, unhopeable and more.
I'm paralysed, just can't seem to break free.
From under the mountain of guilt, pain and trees.
Trees with leaves of shame and regret.
With a bark of melancholy, I'm sleeping to forget.
I'm sleeping to forget that I am myself.
And in my sleep, I'm someone else, someone else.

Condensed part II

Condense the want in drops of fault,
Mix with water and some salt.
Stir to make the want eruptive,
Fold yourself and lie adductive.

A salt lake in my eyes,
Right behind the lids.
Two briny pools,
Corroding my mids.
Rusting my soul,
Oxidising my veins.
Two briny pools,
Over flowing my pains.

Nothing was said and nothing was done,
I was in bed but I still heard the gun.
Go off in the distance, a shot in the dark,
And a lifeless body falls in the park.
A red stain of blood like some kind of mark,
And all the witnesses are covered with bark.
The park was empty, as now was the gun.
And the lifeless body was all said and done.

I had a word, word, word
That once I heard, heard, heard.
The word was nice, nice, nice,
I've used it twice, twice, twice.
But then it broke,
Went up in smoke.
And I was left,
With just a cleft.
The word's now gone,
And I'm alone,
Alone, lone, lone.