Naked heat.
The smell of no underwear.
The continuation of skin, past the waist.
Visibility.

Being at the centre of your body
and tasting all there is to offer.
The vulnerability of reaching,
catching your breath,
a collision of the most sensitive nature.
Senseless want.
Nerves.

The reveal of what no one else sees.
Eyes widen,
repression is lifted.
Imagination in action.
Fantasy.

Disgust, enjoyed.
Privacy, on each other.
Breath meeting,
Bare exposing contact,
Freedom.

A private exhibition of yourself.
Come closer,
and closer,
do what you want with me.

Do you remember?
We've been here before,
it blew our children to pieces.

And we cheered and cried when it was over,
then we beguiled at our peace and tranquility, we envied our own visionaries,
and now we're back here again.

Are you willing to die for what you disagree with?

There can be a different world from this one.
This one that is so well built over time to keep things easy for those that don’t understand
the need for purity and transparency and excitement and wonder.

To keep things the same and treat innovation as gangrene.

Feel the life in the grass,
the freshness that breathy wind gives it,
the air that flows over your skin.
The feelings that turn your stubborn brain into liquid crystal tears,
the mirroring of characters that understand you, that represent you.
With them peace is at our fingertips.

It can be tiring looking for sunshine, but it’s glow will grace us all in time.

He’s a happy guy but riddled with toxicity.
He doesn’t want to die he just wants his life as he knows it to end.
Hooked up to all culture’s most poisonous habits.
An infection.

A boy looking up to a world of lifestyle comparison.
Stone, chemical, claustrophobic habitats.
Freedom chases you in the form of slick car adverts,
you just can’t get away from ultra cool pain.

A boy running through a field of urban misery.
Deep thoughts bore him, he’s only interested in killer one liners of the most escapist variety.
The ones that really know what they’re saying.

Whisky, blood, heavy boots stumbling on wood.
He can’t make it through the day without a drink behind closed doors.
Toxic blood and deep breaths,
never happier than when death closes ever further in.
There’s a breath more chemical than human and a look in your eye, like you’re lost in your own solace.

Everyone has problems, but it’s not bleeding into their lives quite like yours,
blood toxicity is too high to justify.
An intervention.

But smile baby and drink up tonight, you’ll be alright up in the sky.

**** how hard you work,
It’s never gonna happen,
Just give up now, baby.

Life is a walk,
through the shallow garbage,
the sociability, buildings, grime, crime, work, homes, towns and cities,
car parks, night clubs and late nights.
Sadness and happiness,
elation and grief,
to the beach.
Where the land meets the sea,
vastness colliding, significance, understood,
In it’s place.
Harmony, clarity and tranquility, your place,
The beach.

When it’s all stripped away, there will be a beach left behind, where land meets sea and life meets heaven, vast and empty.
Take me to the beach.

When I’m just about to fall,
to go forward,
to leave behind,
to see everything I’ve ever wanted to see.

My left hand clings on to the past, twisted round my wrist,
my senses have dulled,
my heart is longing forever but forever isn’t very intense.

So for my peace of mind,

take me to the beach.

Those with faux authority, brainwashed to loyalty,
realise that the people fought with honesty, originality, nobility.
More than corrupted power could ever conjure.
Give the medals to the children, who will truly fight for the world.
Their death is their life’s legacy,
their legacy, their legacy.

Their blood bares your cowardice, living by the lie they burned will be your demise.
They fought for freedom,
bludgeoned minds hopeful of overcoming nothing but oppression.

This will finish, though you can’t see the end.
But it will finish,
it will creep up on you and when it finally does,
you’ll be ever closer to eternity.

And they will live forever.

A flutter of happiness under dark skies,
death is in the air.
Vitality is rife above black ground.
Dirt is on your skin but eyes lock, fists rise and rebels unite as soulful as ever,
forever.

And their hearts are finally at rest.

The beauty of life isn’t having everything perfect and rosy and all we ever dreamed.
The beauty of life is in the journey of overcoming each struggle.
Battling it with nobility.
Getting down in the mud.
Despite each of us being a means to an end
and none of us getting out alive.
We make art, love,
build from our imagination and support each other with solidarity,
humility and humbleness.
We cherish the here and now and make romance of our adversities.
The beauty of life is in the snags in our journeys that we have to look twice at.
The challenge that we may never overcome.
The beauty of life is in laughing, hysterically,
till the very end.

No matter what.
Despite all opposition.
Against all predictions.
Defying all belief.
Rolling the dice.
Breathing.
Till the very end.

People may say what they want.
Influence who they wish.
Question what they need.
But we will continue putting in the work.
Like everyone else.
In fact like no one else.

Till the very end.

I have too many thoughts,
I want to do something but it’s all in my head,
I’ll have a think and just when I reckon I’ve figured the whole universe out,
I will take no action.

Next thing you know it’s 10 years down the line, with a million wasted ideas and I’m reconciling with myself and settling for absolutely nothing, never mind everything.

Just like everyone else.

My depression isn’t emotional it’s a weight and it’s forcing me to the ground.
It's gonna put me in the ground.
My thoughts are a distraction from what’s truly on my mind.

None of my dreams came true,
now I pretend to take meaning in what I do
and get angry at things that don’t really offend me.
My time’s been and gone,
but I still can’t accept that I lost a long time ago.
At the top of a ladder I never wanted to climb, showing no reason yet still acting like I have presence,
when I have nothing at all.
I must look pretty small from down there
and with it all ahead of them,
the ladder’s shaking.
Rattling.
Trembling,
and I’m about to perish

I wish I’d sat by the window a little more often,
and appreciated my small point of view.

As the sun goes down on my line of vision, I’ll drift and be at peace,
I’ll be in love again.

Good morning,
good morning, the weaponisation of life,
bears a resemblance to you.
Each morning, my dreams leave a taste in my thoughts which bears a resemblance to you.

By afternoon, I’m wandering, and through glistening windows, everyone bears a resemblance to you.
This afternoon, I hoped my fantasies would be quenched, my heart tense, then I realised,
my imagination had blocked my view.

Tonight, each night, I rest, as I walk through your rivers in my slumber,
each moonlit reflection,
bears a resemblance to you.

But only when I look in broken mirrors, can I see that solace is all that’s true.

Whether you love it or not,
you have to move on at some point.
Only then the memories hit you and the feelings come back,
you can smell the thoughts you used to have and the way you used to be,
what we're gonna do next still scares me.

By speed and deed I won’t ever forget you,
I still look for solidarity from each and every one of you.
It’s special what we went through, I miss you.

How can the sky still look the same as it always has if I'm older, and it's an even deeper shade of blue.
Years later,
on my own,
fast flashes of memories of when we just couldn’t stop laughing,
and suddenly my heart’s truly broken.

People whose only meaning is to keep up appearances,
a competition of swankiness,
looking around like barn owls,
trying to hide from the inevitable bigger fish.

I’m just as bad for sitting here, keeping up with the jones’, trying to believe this nice time is worth it.
They sit and expect, despite having absolutely nothing to offer.
I’d love to inject you all with lucidity, and watch your life degrade.
Show the true colours of your damaged personality,
Expose your grey hypocritical ubiquity.

Bland and soulless,
empty and barren.

A dry riverbed,
I can see through the cracks and the confusion behind your smile.
As you realise without knowing what’s missing, that suave looks aren’t quite enough.

The universe is a being, it’s goal is to change.
We are the cells living within it it’s body,
cells within cells,
Within cells,
Within.
What does the universe live within?
And where is it being taken?

One minute I hate you and the next I feel guilty,

I know I’m distracted, lazy and frustrated.

I’m not sitting comfortably but I know that I’m not an unhappy person,

I’m just so conditioned to not play, to quiet, temper and dilute myself.

Until I fit in so well,

that you can’t see me at all.

Nothing is supposed to last.
The most colourfully electric feelings are supposed to flow through us and only be remembered in afterglow.
Then we can prepare for the new,
the alternative is trying to clasp the lightning bolts inside us that inevitably slip through our fingers.
Leaving us blindly clasping onto nothing yet terrified to let it go,
and in the distraction hauntingly missing,
the most glorious moments of our lives.

Trying to tell the story of my fantasies, and convey the feelings in my mind,
were you just young or is there something in you that’s waiting for me as much as I’m waiting for you?
I need to know.

You were in a red seat in my home town,
I wish I could be there with you, we could be kings.

I get this feeling when I think of where I’ve been and where I am,
I want another chance to make it last forever.
Nostalgia, bare smiles and bare laughter.
Innocence and freedom,
blank canvases full of individuality all eventually smeared with the same mundane uniformity.

The fresh icy rain stinging your bare arms,
Trickle.
The first downpour all summer and the streets are a-flood with silver reflections of dusky moonlight.
Fresh.
To the house you plan to forget
yet it seems so central to the plot right now.

Ground zero.
Swimming with vitality and at one with an element much larger than yourself.
The last drop.

Your body surrounded by water,
flowing, on another dimension,
in paradise, free to cross levels of comfort,
liberty.

An expression.

There is no hope in death.
It is absolute.
You try so hard to figure it out but you can’t,
all you can do is live, continuing to breathe.

There is nothing to feel guilty for, because nobody is there anymore.
We are warm and they are cold,
angry at this for happening at all.
Whistling to the wind,
all around is dark,
your grief is like shrieking into an empty room.

You can’t warm their shivers,
and guilt will always follow your happiness from now on.
There’s nothing to fight for anymore.
They are gone.
They are gone.