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  Feb 2015 LJ Chaplin
Thomas EG
You think you're so cool...
Bad boy, detached.
Nobody knows you
like you know yourself.
Leather jacket, crooked grin.
Only few deserve it.
Pocket-watch, single hoop earring.
Vintage, vintage...
How did you get so great?
Perhaps you stole the lost souls
of fragile beauties.
Perhaps you aren't so great after all.
Perhaps...
Or maybe
you just got so sick of hating yourself,
that you decided
to hate everyone else instead.
Maybe...
Or it's possible
that you lost your own soul
in the eyes of a fragile beauty...
And it's possible
that you're too far gone
to be saved.
Literally just wrote this on the spot. I don't know.
  Feb 2015 LJ Chaplin
Thomas EG
Uncertainty fills the air
And suddenly I'm not so sure.
Nostalgia begins to decay
But why?
Heavy, heavier...
I inhale and sigh with, what, exasperation?
Creation?
These are all mere distractions
To prevent myself from colliding
With myself,
With how I feel.
Emotional trauma, Part I -
Coming soon to a childhood near you!
We laugh it off
But it does not leave us.
Nothing can leave us
As easily as you walked away
That night.
I will not forget what I saw.
Engraved in my brain
Causing me to crumble
Tumble, tumble...
**Crash.
LJ Chaplin Feb 2015
The platform is cold,
Numbingly uncomfortable,
The 15:03 train is delayed,

Good.
I would rather wait in the bitter cold
Than return to reality.
It finally arrives,
Sighing as its engines
Relinquish all strength
It has to carry on.

I chose the longest journey to London,
Every stop,
Every pause in tine that I can temper
Linger in.
The fatigue may settle
And my hands may quiver,
But the memories of this week
Are irrevocable,
Laughter,
Friends,
Alcohol,
It was bliss to say the least,
But all good things must come to an end.

There is still the journey through the underground,
Maybe I could lose myself in a sea of commuters
And culture?
The urban rebels
And buzz of tourists who yearn for adventure?

The only thing that propels me
To step off the platform in the first place
Is the thought of ending up in his arms
By the end of the evening.
LJ Chaplin Feb 2015
We place ink on paper
The way we swallow a pill,
Hesitation,
Fear of bitter taste and
Dissatisfaction,
Failure to expel what truly
Eats us alive.
We try to wipe away the fever that stains
Our body
The way that the ink stains the pages,
Seeping through and latching on
With no hope of removing it
Until we grow a deep immunity,
A force that dissolves all absolute
Decay and bacteria
Until we are clean.
One dose of imperfection
And three moments of inspiration a day
Will make you healthy again
LJ Chaplin Feb 2015
Locked inside your head,
Hearing distant footsteps
From the bottom of the stairs,
Alone in an empty room,
Broken ***** bottles
That drowned out the nightmares,
Fear of self control,
The thought of gaining power
That will make you way too strong,
Fear of letting go,
The thought of shattered potential
And seeing things go wrong,
Lost in a crowd,
The voices all the same
Your direction is all off track,
Speaking out for what you love,
The aching trepidation of rejection
That makes foundations of progress crack,
Achieving perfection,
Looks that could never ****
Or bodies that never impressed
Being normal,
It scares you half to death,
It makes the mind obsessed.
LJ Chaplin Jan 2015
High above the clouds,
Reality seems so false,
Daydreams fuel escape.
LJ Chaplin Jan 2015
We latch on to the things
Which destroy us:
Love,
Vanity,
Wealth,
*But what is the price we pay?
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