I'm that record player that keeps going on,
Playing the same old, outdated song.
I'm sorry.
All my poems spout the same cliches now.
Hell, I'm the embodiment of those cliches now.
I don't know why I'm suffering from the disease
Years after my exposure to patient(s) zero,
But here I am, sick, bed-ridden and sleep-deprived,
Scratching sores I thought had long healed up.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I don't see colour anymore,
Just the monochromatic shading of decay.
I don't know how to pull myself back up again,
Can't remember how I did it the first time.
I was a ticking time bomb without even realising it,
And I don't even know if I've exploded yet,
Or if this is just the precursor, the countdown
To ripping apart everyone in my vicinity.
I'm sorry.
They say pain makes for the best artists, the best art,
But I'm too repetitive to make anything good.
Even the violent strokes of red have turned dark grey,
And they get darker the further down the abyss I go,
Where the darkness is so dense that light can't penetrate,
And I don't see the nightmares that have come back.
I'm sorry.

it is safe to assume that my poetry will not make you love me back.
you can wash your hands of me,
but once i have tasted you my lips will spill sonnets about loosing myself in your voice until my throat is dry.
i will uncurl metaphors for your smile and the sun and
how they both pour golden light through the cracks in my ribs and into my heart,
until im empty enough to make room for you to fill me.
do not fall in love with a poet.
better, do not let a poet fall in love with you.
we make nasty habits of bleeding ourselves dry to make enough ink out of our blood to fill the page.
do not let a poet fall in love with you,
unless you crave an immortal soul,
because we will write about you on the walls on the inside of our coffins.

I wake to rain and thunder
take one look
and
dive back underneath
the duvet

time to read a book and
count the many ways in
which
I have escaped days such as this.

She
turns and pops a kiss upon my cheek
says to me,
seek and you shall see
the kitchen
go and make some tea

She
Is so right

and so
I shake the night out of my eyes
and Wednesday's Sun begins
to rise
she calls and says
bring two mince pies
it's nearly Christmas
don't you know.

No special occasion...... It's just something that, I wanted you to know. Loving you has always been easy..... you make it that way; With your kindness, mindfulness, and in the way that, you treat-me---- always tuned-in to the depth of me. Staying with you has always been a pleasure for me..... Because you get me like none-other..... You are and have been --- My Sister-Brother, Father-Mother, Lover-and Closest Friend.....You are everything that, I hold dear----- and it seems like you've always been. My love for you is higher than The Empire State..... Deeper than Victoria Lake, it brings life to me like The Nile.... Simply you're the gift that, makes my Life worthwhile; to the moon-and-back again.... You will always be My Lover, My Life, and My Friend. No..... Special Occasion----- I just wanted you to know..... Some of the reasons, why I love you so! No Special Occasion.

I do not have much time but I just want to say that I love each of you all in Christ bye.

The lost congregate
a lodestone of despair
draws them together
all that could be said
to make things better
sleek shallow lies
dry crumbling mortar
howling chaos beckons
beyond walls of order
at the unhinged door
a legion of wolves
refusing to be tamed
snarling and ripping
at what little remains