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Tøast Mar 2023
I look back at old comments, hoping for something new to see
Some old remark of a person I once was
That stench that burns your nostrils and kills the back of your throat
Stinging into the base of your teeth and down to your fingertips
Bite your nails with yellowed teeth and suckle on the nicotine feed
That keeps you strong
Like balsawood and matchstick towers,
We built our castles in the mud and grit of it all
A glorious death had I not found my feet

Feet running
Running rabid and fast, too scared to slow down
Too nervous to stop.
Stop searching. Stop searching for something to hold onto
Let it all out of you
Hands released
Let the waters take hold of you
floating on top.

So selfish of me to not see the sun
The day breaks and falls to pieces in your hands
Crumbling down with a certain sweetness behind
Like burnt caramel that sticks
As we stand.

How beautiful it is
We talk of fun things and long weekends
Of head highs and analogue eyes
Away from the screens and the mess of addiction
white skies mottled with rose coloured patches
Sewn together jeans with embroidered scratches
Chalk line to measure my affliction
The people I’m with won’t see my addiction.
Tøast Jan 2022
One more swipe.
One more swipe across one more greasy face.
My finger slips, skips down the page.
My finger pauses at your gaze.
The taste of your smile as it wonders through
my maze.
Tøast Jan 2022
So let me rest my tired mind
And light up another smoke.
Coz I'm a mess and always have been,
They say pain is only temporary,
But I've been climbing these hills
And they're starting to look like mountains.
Let's breathe in the fresh air,
And exhale the sadness,
Coz these drugs are only temporary,
They'll only keep me happy for a couple hours.
But there's always more money and more people
Tøast Jan 2022
Start by writing your names in the stars
Scratch it deep into the cosmos. Deep into the black,
Build your dreams of connection upon what was almost.

One more swipe.
One more like.
One more swipe,
Running across falling cards,
Counting cards like calling cards.
I can’t feel my feet.
Tell me I’m beautiful
Dance with me through poems
And down the streetlights.
Talk to me with words whispered only in my language.
This anguish is killing me, but the shows only just begun.
We must vanquish the sin, and never run into the sun
Tøast Jan 2022
We sit on the edge of conversation
Hands clasped, feet shuffling anxiously
Eyes darting across the room like
the stars in the night sky
You lean back with a sigh
and I catch you.

Hands together, knees bent
fingers touching skin
Tracing outlines of mountains on the map you offer me
You look up from my gaze and a calmness falls across your face
The corner of our eyes don't wonder but meet
Times entangled in the feast before us
I raise a leg and your knee greets my feet.

Waters greet these feet,
Waters that rage on and under us
Washing over our bodies like the light that’s wrapped itself beside us
Bodies become one in the heat of the den that we've made
In the depts we've paid
The depths we've obeyed
The trust we've displayed

Down by the rivers where the whomping willow weeps,
where the waters run ramped, and the wild things wonder
wonder about life, wonder about death
run through your mind son, be absent, be bold
just don’t forget that the water man reaps
reaps in what is sown, sold and told

whispered. whispered like silence on the edge of the wind
the wind that howls through the corner of beauty
there where it stays and sits for a while,
as the man, he stands, waiting watching on duty.
I look back to you, your face changed by the cut of a smile.

A smile.
That smile, that warms my soul like summer breeze,
Wraps me up and takes me in from the cold
You don't even realise, you do it with such ease
You do it now when we're young and you'll do it when we're old.

We sit, once again, as we used to, but more alone
Hands together, fingers crossed, in utter isolation
It’s such a wild thing, wild life that we’ve known
And none of it is ripe for an explanation.

Feet dancing on the edge of contemplation
This information that we use for the source of our meditation
Imagination sparks conversation but also speculation
So, what are we to do when there’s no confirmation?
A shout shuddering in the darkness of creation
Thinking of the combination, representation and motivation for these words when all I ever wanted was a simple conversation.
Tøast Nov 2021
I’ve thought about that so many times before,
An itch on my mind like a scratch on the floor.
I’ve seen my face on other peoples memories,
Boxed away in places just out of reach.
It might be my life but it’s just a figure of speech.

A forgotten fallacy, framed through the ages and found in the back room of an old mans house,
Dust blown, leather cracked and spine broken.
Cracked open in two, bent over a knee and followed by the finger.
Put the red ribbon down and let’s talk it over,
Draw a pretty picture and imagine it again.

Where the wind whistles and the dogs howl like stars in the night.
Piercing the black, thick tar in the sky.
Running over clouds and dripping through my mind, thick like treacle but no half as sweet.
Tøast Nov 2021
Well I don’t know what to write
Because it’s been a while,
And the turns have been winding, the maps stored in a file.

Rushed away like wind in my mind
A fleeting jab at a life.

So take me back to those mind games
Where the sea is stronger
And the breeze block stumps sway in the wind.

Stretched far across this land,
Like ice on the fields
A punch through the crack
And a hole in this earth.

There’s fires on every corner
So you’d best come prepared.

Because the man who once lived here..
Is now huddled and scared.
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