This isn't the sound of love,
Or pain, or washed up loneliness,
Or chalk being disintegrated across a board of nails.
Have you heard the silence of emptiness,
Well, almost emptiness, not enough not to write a poem.
Not of despair, but of emptiness.
It's easy not to know where to go, but once you have fixed everything,
What happens?
Do you stay, or go, or dissociate.
The choice is yours.

Life is catching up.

All those suppressed problems are
Bleeding into reality
So they can't be hidden anymore.

Force boiling water onto your head
And acknowledge change
Without altering yourself

It is hard, that's agreed,

Walking away is easier because
It's like you are revving
And your paint is being scratched off with a key.

I know you'll drive into a wall again,

Wanting everything hard to get, but
Come on, at least try to accept for now.
But don't melt into anyone's viewpoint too easily because

Perspective is corrupt.

Even the brightest of people
Could deface the most beautiful words
If they had just ****** themselves laughing -

It depends where you look.
But for sure, wherever you are
If you look behi-

Life is catching up.

And when it does, you'll  be

Slapped
By the absurdity of reality
And you might understand it.

Why pity the fool
when he is free from thought?
Because he tried to look cool by writing a 3 line poem.

Gentle stars stroke the long sky
And soft smells of night tickle the air,
It's peaceful, flawless, quiet; not too dry,
Until my silent voice is still but bare:
Shh, slip your trembling arm in mine,
Press, enfold, and hold my gaze so tight,
Your pretty gaze glints and then it shines;
Your warm, careful, noiseless eyes are bright -
They stare until they burn my heart demure;
The sort that steal my thoughts and sanity
And make my mind naïve; the perfect cure,
Such pearly, pretty, perfect, profanity,
Pretty, pretty ugly,
I don't want
It,
Perfect, perfect *******,
I don't want
It,
Like begging a shooting star
Doesn’t work.
I don’t I don’t want
A salesman selling a smash-
ed car,
I
Don’t,

I do

n’t