May Day,
The ship is going under,
And I, the foolish captain,
Must go down with it,
Choosing to believe that,
The deep blue depths are a better source of oxygen
Of this strangled existence we walk together.

For many years my fully conscious corpse,
Trawled the depth thriving on only those,
Who had lost their way and could be led astray,
My skin, wrinkled to the touch,
Grey to the eyes,
Salty to the taste,
Eating itself from within.

I met a strange character,
That looked like an aged me,
His greasy, grey hair flowed in the depths,
His back slumped under the pressure,
He turned to me and said,
I could still share love and joy,
That I was not yet dead.

I now realise,
That I am alive,
And they will never tell me otherwise,
Im not to feel happiness’ warmth again,
But you will not feel the weight of my burden,
No one I love will have eyes
Welled up with these salted tears
Or thighs slashed with hatred’s cold blade.

Because I am alive,
And they will never tell me otherwise.

Within my arms and in the comfort of my bed,
She runs her hands through my hair,
Her cigarette scented fingers
Massage away the aches of a working day,
My cheeks tortured by hours of endless laughter,
And the eternal smile she puts on my face,
In this moment I’m ******,
She’s got me and she knows it,
I once saw myself as a broken toy,
Left to rot at the bottom of a chest,
Forgotten by time and those who’ve left me behind,
But now feeling like someone’s first choice,
In my head I’m introduced to a new voice,
It whispers in a soft, mumbled sound,
“Please, stick around.”

Fighting his fight,
Try as he might,
Beaten black and blue,
All because of you.

Life rotting him to his core,
All his body painfully sore,
His losing battle he fought,
Without help of any sort.

He shakes, struggling to cope,
Losing all his youthful hope,
Our silent warrior, making no fuss,
Postpones his fighting just to save us.

The world tells us we are nothing,
They say we cause crime, so disgusting,
They say we have no work rate,
They insight all this hate,
They say all we do is drink and smoke,
And on their lies people choke,
They will charge us a fortune simply for living ,
And exploit our blindness, unforgiving,
They will take our money with brutal smirk,
And then say it’s because we won’t work,

They call us “snowflake”,
But all of our happiness they will take.

Death pressed against his lips,
Drunken idiots they dance in the night,
Hands pressed against her hips,
Surrounded by drink and friends.

Death pressed against his lips,
Drunken idiots they drink in the night,
Sharing potent drinks in sips,
Surrounded by music and darkness.

Death pressed against my lips,
Inhaling deeply,
A smiling face then slips,
Yet you’ll never realise how,
If only you could see me now.

Since she left I can not eat,
My fragile soul I’ve begun to beat,
Full up on nicotine and drink,
My aching heart has begun to shrink,
Torn up by crippling loneliness,
Unable to feel the warmth of happiness,
Connected only through a phone,
Oh baby, just come home.

Cursed, the feeling of constant regret,

Fighting, failing to cope with life,

Lost, unable to find who I want to be,

Sick, tired, broken and abused,

Beaten, my mind black and blue from self pity and loathing,

Hated, unable to love myself,

Scarred, pain waits around every corner,

Sleepless, the thought of you encapsulates me,

Depressed, searching for happiness at The Bottom of The Bottle.

The starless night stares silent,
Gently the wind dances through brown, crisp leaves,
A small cobble path lies, carefully lit by the full, encapsulating moon,
To the right, an empty field, drenched in dew,
To the left a still pond, glimmering with the white light from the heavens,
In front, skeletal structures of wooden giants frozen in time,
Fox holes border the path, untouched for months as the residents sleep through the cold,
The usual steady flow of traffic halted by the call to rest,
Not a sound is heard,
Everything lay silent, still, peaceful.
Everything but what was running around in his head.

In youth we all feared the dark,
Monsters hid in it,
Our parents, armed with flimsy night lights would banish these monsters,
And we’d be saved, protected by the illuminating beams.

In youth we all feared the dark,
Odd sounds and creaking frightened us,
Our parents, prepared with stories of heroes would silence the sounds,
And we’d be saved, reassured by the knowledge there’s always a hero to help.

As my aged self I fear the dark,
I’m now the monster hidden in it,
No small, cheap light to banish their screaming voices,
No one to save me with their incorruptible light.

As my aged self, I fear the dark,
The screeching voices of guilt and regret frighten me,
There are no stories to protect me,
No stories to assure me of a day they’ll be silenced.