Now he sits in a room, big enough for two.
a devil child with a black paintbrush,
drawing art on his skin,
Inspired by his mind.
Well, he never knew what it was like,
To see a shooting star and not feel scared.

I might just bury myself in the nights' sky and hide away from the world for a few hours. Think up some arrangement of words spoken before me, and try to be happy. For this is all that I know, living in a house where the walls bend and warp through the dangerously long hours of the night, weighed down by painful memories and bad smells.

We listened to songs and smoked in our happiness.
We wrote warmth into poems and cuddled at night.
Your smile was contagious, but now it's all gone.
Because the flowers have died, and the petals are sharp.
Theyll never smell as sweet without you by my side.

Well, we walked and we talked and,
You said we were better off alone.
But these words will mean nothing,
When I'm sitting on my own.

A memory of a memory,
Echos threw the darkness
Of his head.

And as the pain will come back,
He'll replace you with drugs instead.

The doctor visits broke me
And the hospital stayed in my head,
But they said sorry son there is no cure for a broken heart
Or messed up head.

So he sits and he waits dreaming of
Memories from a life he never had.
He never had.

Well the shouting and the fighting
Drew us far apart.
But you will always be special,
Like a sunrise for my heart.

Coz he wrote this on a bus,
While he was dreaming of you.
Coz all the flowers have died,
But the memories still remain.

The petals turned to knives
As they cut through his happiness

And destroyed his self-esteem,
Leaving scars where he went.


So he sits and he waits dreaming of
Memories from a life he never had.
He never had.

Well now he sits in a puddle
Of whiskey, tears, and drinks
To forget the one he loved
The one that he loved.

He spends his time,
Writing love songs for no one else to hear,
But these words will dig deep and then disappear.
Oh, disappear.

Well we drank too much
And had a laugh.
But the **** are gone and the bottles are dry
The sun came up and laughs turned into tears
Ripping through my mirage or happiness
And showing how I feel.

  Well now I sit and I wait for a bus,
  Because it's off to work I go, with a
  drunk mind and a painful heart.
  But the memories of that night
  remain.

Sometimes you just miss her, don’t you?
not the way you normally miss someone,
No.

But in the way that the sky misses the sun,
when she leaves for the night.
when all light is gone,
and all that’s left is darkness once again.

She fell into your arms, didn’t she?
like water down the drain,
she washed away the mess and left greatness,
clear as day.

So, you held on to her, didn’t you?
like a father does a son,
but conflict rose, and thorns grew,
stealing away the petals,
as they fell to the ground.

You couldn’t hold onto her, could you?
not in the way a blacksmith can’t hold a flame,
but in the way the stars can’t hold onto the night,
coz someday, she will come back again.

With teer soaked pillow cases
And broken glass painting the room

Washed clean with liqour
And covered over with ash

A beautiful sadness now speckled our minds,
When petals fall and flowers die
Rivers still run and the sun still sets,

But the stars look down and with sadness In their eyes,
For the sunset will never be the same, without the moon by their side

The fire burnt out and the ash floated away.
creating patterns around our fingers we couldn't ignore
it was there when we would stare into each other's eyes for hours on end.

There.

That's how I'll remember you.

well who knows, maybe if we had hugged a little longer,
and loved a little stronger,
moved a little slower,
and argued a little less.
perhaps then we would have each other.
perhaps in another life,
where we get what we want and we both are fully grown.
but perhaps we polluted a thousand memories with our words when we should have stayed silent.
but plants grow, and people change,
so perhaps we just grew apart, and our intertwined lives became too separate.
because you should never force love, no matter how much you want it.
sometimes,
you've got to let it go away.

A disgusting group of goopy mess
A cluster of bandits in town to stay
A rain storm to cloud the sky,
The weathers never been nice, and the forcast looks bad.
Because the mind monsters are back
And they're here to stay.

An unsatisfied disfunctional
Smoking in the rain

Siting all alone in a puddle of his pain.
No umbrella to shield him, just walls to drown him.
Anxiety and fears surrounding his screams in a muffled muse of fright.

Flood me in emotions,
Let me drink from that stream.
Cover me in leaves
And leave me in this dream.

I want to travel to far off places.
Sit in coffee bars writing notes,

I want to go to Paris,
Walk along the river
And feed foreign ducks
Foreign bread,

Smoking cigarettes and watching the sunset, as it kills the day. A romantic display of a brutal ******.
A poets stupid love for foreign places and romance and coffee.

All these sad sillouhettes of sad people, artists and creatives.
Smoke filtering through broken lungs.
Rising and lifting the spirits of the dead.

Coz we are the broken few who see the light in the darkest of moments, breathing in the dampest air, and enjoying every moment.

Because yes,

You are the reason I have these problems, these scars on my wrists and thoughts in my head. My unspoken horror in the night, but you used to be the one to read me to sleep. Like a boy with a magnifying glass, you tried to do everything you can to doubt me, put me over the edge and put a suicide to the front of my mind.
It’s not that you’re mean, horrid or cold-hearted

It’s just that you are only as ****** up as the rest of it, but too clever to see.

Myself, too kind to let him show it, because I was the one who stayed,
Who stayed and held your hand

Who removed the knife and wiped the blood away.

But you never noticed me, sitting there on the floor. An ant on the pavement, as the boy with the magnifying glass cowers over, my life in his fragile hands.

You were once my dad, but I fear you have but become a shell of your former self, and unrecognisable memory of a happy man who is covered in grief and layers of dirt in the form of depression, built up long ago from a broken home.

So, no. I can’t blame you.

You and I are in the same sinking ship, but only one can swim and you always got sea sick. Sick of my company, sick of me.

In the top most window of an old oversized house, there is a boy looking out…

I leaked my emotions through the familiar window as I watched this slow motion explosion of layered light brightly engulf the sky.

The room itself a simple place, where I’d come years earlier in emergency of a bad dream or scary thought. Now itself becoming a bad dream of a memory, stale with regrets and unhappiness.

That’s the thing, this house is nothing but things, of which I’ve been surrounded by my entire life. Moving from room to room as the memories and anger build up just enough to wreck the room before moving onto the next. An unexplained ****** of compressed claustrophobic anger and depression of a tortured mind.

She is my therapeutic recipe of beautifully placed atoms.

A wonderful arrangement of parts, wound together with love and kindness, hidden behind a fake smile and shy eyes.
her mind a mess with cigarette smoke and memories, brought back to haunt her through lonely nights.

But it is here, in the mind, where she creates the most extraordinary things. Poems and word arrangements in ways I never could, expressing such deep emotions, that bleed from the page. Every word elegantly feeding into the next, delicately woven to appeal to the reader, I could get lost in those lines for hours.

Once again in this time zone.
This monochromatic elongated hour,
Where everything is more vibrant.
The air seems crisper,
Your bed warmer,
Your mood deeper.

But as the minute’s tick tick tick by, like the ants on the pavement outside, your mind starts to become agitated and vile.

His cherry blossom heart losing its petals in a desperate hope to hide the fact the neighbours are flowerless.

A gentle rainstorm quickly enlightens the situation as more and more thunderclouds role in from the north.

The north a sea storm, with high mountains and deep valleys
But here you are. once again in this hour, where you are not quite awake, but your mind is alive.

Your body running through the scorching sandpaper desserts down the spine, sending sharp stabbing sounds out into the night.
The night a seemingly peaceful place, but every detail of a sound is amplified, as the walls cave in, turning into speakers of which play only at a frequency which seemingly only you can hear.

Your mouth seems dryer, dehydrated from all the drinking, thinking and linking of random events in your mind, as a mindless car drives by, casting playful shadows that dance and beckon you on the walls, enticing you closer as they play games on your eyes, casting spells on your senses and messing with your mind.

2 am.

This place is neither real nor otherwise, but perhaps it exists in this hour of the night.