And here I am
Sitting - by the open fire
Losing the minutes
Your smell on my collar
Pondering the answers
Many unasked question
In a short daydream
That follows through the night
Sipping out my sorrows
Running from my faults
Breathing in the fumes -
Like my car's engine light
And here I am
Wishing you were here too
Holding my hand
All but adieu
Nov 4, 2025
Nov 4, 2025 at 9:20 PM UTC
They're selling postcards of the futile politics.
While signing their name in blue ink
An endless groan and bag of tricks
While I watch the blood spill by the sink
Hollow children with 2D vision
How'd they cry when the power done blow
Performing miracles on plentiful women
How can I be like him when I grow
And the black suit and tie kept him away
From his family, his kids, and his dream
Send him back to rubble and empty shells
The place where the children are lean.
We no longer have Dylan or Zack.
These men whom faced on the charge
We no longer have the sense or the willingness to feel the change the air once it's dark.
And the bark slowly falls igniting the flames
To be cleaned by the collared blue man
Will they pass by the bodies of the fallen
Who once called this barren land home
They no longer even try to hide it
Silenced by the ADA's green
And the oils, the mask, take a proper ganda
At the politician's ***** ole dream
Oct 16, 2025
Oct 16, 2025 at 9:52 PM UTC
Sky-soaked Collingwood Street barely greeted by the dawn.
Thin beams razor through grey fluff above me.
Encompassed noise machine of industrial stains.
Like the latte to my teeth.
Indelible, unfortunately.
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
Encrusted within the leatherback lining, and three beers deep. Six stories up, yet our smoke spirals higher. Encased in an unknown territory led by my best mate. Dazed by the cream chipped railing and rhythmic execution of bugs - reality seems to be spilling away. At the tail end of an uncle-nephew trade which I couldn't be closer too - just standing by, distant.
For a moment struck me, as hot as the smoke filling my lungs. ******* me into a period of long shallow forgot. A lost packet of socket-wrenches. Still cocooned in its glistening plastic, resting by the foot of the old man's lounge. Mass-produced, dirt cheap, the same set I have at home. A birthday gift from my father in-law, Temu special, a man's gift. My lady and I used these to hang Libby's artwork, Irene's too.
It couldn't look more out of place. I almost lost it under the peeling paint, smell of **** and house music playing below. With a new light, I toked another, this time with a new thought behind my eyes. Those quiet Sunday's in Redhill - I laughed, maybe I wasn't as lost as I thought.
Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 9:20 PM UTC
After our last theatrics, upon us is a tide of silence. I seem to revert to my old self yet with one new exterior.
My hearts in two
It's been three days since I've smelt the mango from your conditioner. Still full of love four you.
Me, my five friends spending time together. Their attempts to distract myself from that grungy pit in my stomach. Like the Six'ers and their seven game winning streak.
My mind is stuck.
Glued to the slowly fading thought of our memories.
The time we eight in China town, where you tried octopus, laughter simply forbidding my breathes
The isolation you felt, your family in Berlin, unable to get home. I was excited for our trip to meet them in March.
Nein, ich liebe dich wirklich
Mar 23, 2025
Mar 23, 2025 at 4:59 AM UTC
To be a better man is to change even when you don't want to.
To pick up broken glass with your naked hands, glueing each shard back together, accepting karmatic slices to your flesh.
Or perhaps you lay them to recycle, half-hoping to reconnect a later day, where you'll both ascend to something more than your current selves.
Though you wrap them in plastic, to be tossed into land fill, accepting your time stain like that'll make you a unique being.
"Oh, he's got character."
Gulped blue pill with plastic chaser, sláinte.
Oh, how wrong you chose
Mar 20, 2025
Mar 20, 2025 at 8:55 PM UTC
My old fat dog sleeping on the blue wood laced porch, his face Illuminated by the half lit moon and his ears dance away the mosquitos hungry for a midnight meal.
Alone, in the end of his tether, probably dreaming bout his youth. His paddling paws and twitchy nose, sow a grin on my withered face, he too reminds himself of earlier days.
Feed the cat, talk to him in a different tongue, ignorant of his clear lack of English. It doesn't really bother me, it's nice to say whatever I want for a change.
Still haven't sheeted the doona, or put away my washing. I'll leave that for a version of me feeling especially frustrated at the state of my messy room, usually accompanying BB singing the blues.
Exhaust's screaming down road begins my nightly routine, a lullaby of fossil fuels sing me to sleep, where I'm off menu for the high pitched invaders, spasms in my fingers and toes, clinging to the shredded wallpaper of the past.
Mar 19, 2025
Mar 19, 2025 at 3:25 AM UTC
And there's nothing you can do about it now.
With a frantic heartbeat - he laid his last.
Lost to the warmth of the sun
Upon the horizon a new dawning light
Taking back memories to form connections yet to be made.
A man who was once senile, blooms emotions so forth
Without the heartache
Without the fear
Ones ability to love, to grieve longingly for an individual, seems dull
Like risk is the means to life.
Like a ship never hearing the water's roar
Or a bedroom performance which never leaves.
Even a rooster guilty of too many sleep ins
Because if you won't, who will.
Come a day where you'll wish you had done just so.
Pray you never experience it
Dec 7, 2024
Dec 7, 2024 at 12:14 AM UTC
The more I'm alone in evening, filling that pit in my heart.
It makes a lot of sense I sit by smudged glass.
Watching the passerbys, and the winter birds fly
Hoping for something, that'll conjure alittle laugh.
Perhaps if I stood outside and maybe bathe in the cold
Said g'day to my old old neighbours, and try to grab ahold
Of myself, and my fuzzy mind, instead of just complaining.
But for now, I'll drug myself, watchin' Bob Ross a' painting
My days waste away as I drown myself in aged grapes.
Just to feel something warm, it's been quite cold as of late.
Avoid all my, friends they probably don't wanna see my eyes wet
Three whole bottles later and plenty hand rolled cigarettes
It's just my ****** luck, the white dust starts a' raining.
I guess I'll calm my shakes watch another Bob Ross painting.
Perhaps my mind like a mountain top, needs a new blanket of snow.
Covering the old habits, allow my mind room to grow.
To explore a new path, see through a rose lens
Cry out all my old tears until Bob Ross ends
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 1:49 PM UTC
Hung from the arm on the 7:45 train home,
Being careful not to brush the lady beside me even if her hair smells like lavender in the spring.
Using what's left of my conscious for balance, stagnate excel script drained my will so surely as if I owed it back.
Romanticising the daily is about as close as I'll get to a break. Without rosie words and teller-folk I'm sure the 7:45's headlights wouldn't see me.
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 1:46 PM UTC