I drink my coffee, butter my bread

I still can’t get you out of my head

wash my hair, brush my teeth

you’re the only reason why I breathe

you’ve broken me 
you wrapped your hands around my throat
and whispered your words of malign, pulling my hair
cutting my tongue 

there’s no escaping you, old friend of mine
but I lost you in the tremors of my mind
used to be filled with beauty, kindness and grace
but I don’t even recognise your face

I look at you with disgust 
and you look back at me with revulsion 
I clench my fist, you clench yours 
now, shards of glass are on the floor

A poet Jot's word's
Even whilst being broke;
A poet writeth his last stanza
In his deathbed whilst he chokes.

A poet in the living
Beyond his death;
The poet recites Poe
Whilst quoting Macbeth.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

fire of my lungs

pain of my chest

cut on my lip

bruise on my neck

he is fire

he is pain

the one that drives me insane

the cut on my lip

the bruise on my neck

my life was his to wreck

he is the sun, the moon, the rain

*what is love without loss and life without pain?

It's 12 a.m.
I run off caffeine and gasoline,
nothing seems real lately
I am a forgery of reality

It's 1 a.m.
I am numb, I am cold
I look at my shattered image, to make sure I am myself
To make sure I bleed like everyone else

It's 2 a.m.
The lights flicker as hope withers
Disastrous dreams haunt my brain
The darkness is making me insane

It's 3 a.m.
And I lose