Let me sit quietly in this house,
The early hours as the sun rises, casting shadows to show duality and warmth to show us love.
A bright blue sky to clear our minds.
But soon I'll be on my way.

Jumping between pages,
A shattered memory and a broken rib,
We burnt out the place my mind used to be,
Left ash piles and Polaroid pictures with little tiny people saved in an instant.
A memory of a meloncholy mood drifting up from my mind as my heart beats faster,
This anxiety is turning my Polaroids into matchsticks, my gut into a butterfly cage.

An ant in the headlights of a car, doesn't think what make and model the car is,
Yet I see my fears, my ghosts and my life and I can't help but be dragged on stage with them,
Analyse them and pester them, taking notes like it's my job, and writing until the voices in my head might finally be quiet.

I guess if I can't quiet my head, I'll leave it instead.
Say goodbye to this cigarette wasteland, with cherries and bongs.
This pyscotic diagnostic of a funny story I once heard, blended together until the lumps come out.
Well he's never been able to deal with himself, his mind, his monsters.. so you'll have to excuse him as he dives into concrete swimming pools, and tries to jump over houses to no avail.

Well he sees his floors in other people's houses, and feels anxious and scared.
You see, we don't like what's wrong with us, so we hide it and lock it away.
But if no one can see them how can they help?
You tell your children they're beautiful,
But it's only because they're your creation.
This is a problem with the world, we never tell anyone how beautiful they are,
So we all just sit like rhinos on mountain tops,
Defensive positions, walls up, guns loaded.
Until that one Disney butterfly flutters by, distracting some as they're drawn to it as it floats down stream and saves them from themselves.

How wonderfully tragic,
A river with no end.
A river that will never rest or be calm.
Where the sun heats the water, and the stars kiss its surface.
Bouncing light off and casting shadows in its depths.
Rolling stones run along the bottom, sprinting somewhere they cant go.
Willow trees take a sip,
As they rest their tired limbs in the waters of his mind.
running through forests, scurrying around mountains built from memories created long ago.
But the water leaks into the earth, and the river slows.
Whirlpools created by conflicts of hot and cold words.
A song, a voice and the beat of a heart, flowing to the sound of the water,
While gentle and calm, but hidden and shy. a blue current of green love.

I'm just stuck in this meaningless messy mush of loneliness.
With a numbing sensation for a brain,
And the thump of my heart keeping me going.

Things lose their meaning and flowers look grey.
I don't know how I feel about anything.
Days get shorter but Jesus Christ the nights are long again.

So let's remember each other from then.
Not from fights or arguments we had...
But from that starlit kiss, we shared,
And the way we froze time with each other's embrace.

"You will get better."

I know.
That's what everyone says.
But after so many copy and pasted memories of the same conversations,
Those words become watered down
And you start to lose your grip on the end of the rope that's holding you together.
Until you find that same rope around your neck.
Or you stay on the end and struggle and fight like hell...
Taking drugs and drinking to make yourself believe you're further away from the bottom.

I guess that's the tragedy of life, isn't it...
Just sad people looking after sad people.
Pushing each other along until they push too hard and someone is left behind.

Yeah, I'm not escaping this for a while...
But Jesus Christ I'll hold onto the end of that rope for as long as I can.
Ill cut and chisel away at it from time to time,
But I'll stay there.
Until I find the strength to climb back up.

So you'll always know where to find me,
Just stuck at the bottom of my rope, like a fly on the edge of a venus fly trap.
A lit cigarette slowly burning to ash in a tray.

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
Again.

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.

How can he miss the moon, when she was snuffed out so long ago?
When her light burnt out and she crumbled into two,
Shining brighter in a different sky, than she ever could in mine.

Well my night-time walks will never be the same,
A paranoid insomniacs depressive escape, through anxious gaps in the galaxy, where we used to dance between stars and lay down on black holes.
Well now, it would seem, the night sky is nothing but darkness, where his heart may beat but his mind just hurts.

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

This girl. This ******* girl.
She's drifting into my life like autumn wind.
Running around, catching the leafs,
Because I can't let go of such a gorgeous girl.
Hair the colour of bonfires, wrapping around, warming my heart.
Well my heart's turned to ash and my lungs are burnt,
But she gives me a new reason to escape these demons.

Jesus Christ, I can't get you out of my mind.
The other-thinking and paranoia escapes when my lips touch hers.
A star kissed face, freckles and eyes..
Her eyes.. my God, I could look into those eyes for hours.
Because I've never been good at trusting, and I don't know how to let people care for me,
But I see the same pain behind her eyes,
And it's mesmerising.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Can you feel it? He says.
Can you feel the mountains crumbling,
Falling apart on a grand scale?

Well I can feel them dissolving around me,
Failing everything and burning the forests down.
Ruining my chances with a girl just for being me,
Coz the rivers run dry with a sludgy mess of ash and liquid confidence.

Running higher and standing tall, but the more I climb the steeper it gets.
The winds whip my face and slash my wrists,
And the one person who can help, is falling down too.
If only I could have helped you sooner.

Up here the butterflies are dragons,
And the clouds are choking me out.
Perhaps I'm not as far up as I thought,
But the pressure here is too much for me, and theres no rescue team in sight.

I'm so tired of this two step forward one step backwards ******* that my life has become.
This therapeutic **** up, where I glance between monitors carefully scouring the land.
Punching my therapist in the face before I've even met them, I'm sure my life had a direction at some point.
Now I seem to dance in the moonlight of substance abuse and alcoholism,
But trying to make sense of it all in my mind is the most difficult of all.

Add fuel to the fire and punch a ******* baby for crying, this is the only life you have so do what you want.
Is it possible, do you think, to dance in the shadows of a mountain and think you're in the sun?
Do I love him? Am I ready for that kind of a maze?
Because perhaps I've cleared the fog from inside my mind just a tiny bit and bitten down into my ****** up past, just enough to taste the bitter sweet fuckery that scars my wrists.
Well perhaps this is living, but I've not been this suicidal in years.
So perhaps then, I'm still just as lost as Ive always thought I was.

I miss living my life,
back when smells weren’t polluted, diluted by oceans.
When sparrows dived and swallows would fly.
catching the day on their wing,
a perfect dance across a broken mind.

But how many lives will it take for me to be happy?
how many memories of songs and poems?
of long chats and short walks.
of star kissed nights and sun touched skies.

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.

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

Well I’m backed up against this weeping window pain for yet another night.
Looking through it but never too far off into the distance,
Where once I could see a flickering candle light,
Dancing delicately with the wind,
I now see black once again.

A depressing default of stationary sickness.
This black awakening rises up once again.

Cleaning out old files in my mind.
Sweeping away rot and decay,
To make way for new mess.
This endless paradox of insanity.

Pushing the chair away,
Waiting for someone new to fill your space.
This table was once full,
A family of people.
Now it's just me. My poems,
Yet somehow it feels crowded.

An empty room with no air to breathe,
Suffocated in my minds inabilities.
Indecisiveness, breaking news!
"Hey look, everyone. This kid is insane."
In truth I don't know what I am,
Who I'll be or where I'm heading...

Terrified of behind left behind by my mind,
Stuck in a moment that happened years ago,
Clawing with every cigarette he smokes and bottle he drinks.
But the climb is never easy with whiskey stained hands and ash covered feet.

You.
You with the cute little freckled face,
with the button nose

You with the eyes speaking more languages
then the mountains in summer.

You with the beauty of spring and the lips like a sunset bouncing off the rivers.

You with the love for poetry, me a mere fool scribbling notes in his bedroom to block out the sun.

You with the electric touch and most
adorable smile,

You turn my stomach into a butterfly cage
and simply make me tremble in the best of
ways.
Well, I’ve never known how to save myself,
but you seem to catch me in such a wonderful way.