He resides within my heart,
My soul ready to succumb,
But I have sadly erred-
To an extent where I've compelled him to leave me in despair,
Stranded alone in this suicidal world,

I lost him on my doings,
My moods and my desperation,
He's gone faraway and I, space bound-
Shed tears and wait for him to come back,
Wanting to rectify my mistake and change things forever,

Told people that I moved on,
That I've forgotten the pain he's put me through,
Though embarrassed of my eagerness,
He should've known he was my drug,
My healer, my decay,

If I die a millionth each day-
It's because of his absence and his ignorance,
Going through shackles,
Pulled into abyss,
How shallow am I, wanting someone who doesn't want me?

this isn't
a suicide note
i don't need
to write one

i already have
if you piece
together all
the words scattered
throughout poems
and journal entries
nobody reads and
that i rarely write

if you struggle
through first
and second drafts
you'll see the parts
of myself i don't talk
about and shadows
of people that i
cared about

if you did
all that
you would
begin to see
it's written in
between lyrics
and under
layers of scars

so this isn't
a suicide note
just a memo
that i've been
writing one for
my whole life.

its nice to be nice so they say

be pleasent and kind everyday

wear a smile upon your face

where ever you go in every place.


just be nice and show you care

and your kindness you can share

its nice to be nice and pleasent too

most of all just be you

.

Thick walls
encase me,
stationary disbelief
fogs my intentions,
straight line
foundations rise,
no windows
or doors to un-bar,
rafters feature ropes
hung in shameless
attempts
to persuade
escape, which
is not likely
because this prison
is self imposed,
and I am
the warden
as well as
the inmate
and no one
gets out
of here
alive

Some  places  call  it
In  the  Autumn.

Some  places  call  it
in  the  Fall.

In  Cumbria  UK  we  say
in  the  Back  End.

Meaning  the  Back  End
of  the  year.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

The edge looks so inviting.
I could close my eyes and it could be all over.  
One step and then I’m dead.
Should I jump?

I imagine us
collecting affections
like loose change

bits hidden everywhere

in couch cushions,
in strong, stitched
seams

pennies hoarded
in an old sweet
jar

cluttered coppers
at the bottom of
coffee cups

we count,
meaningless amounts

building neat piles
of insignificant coins

until they become
our fortune

Imagine -

this blackness as if it is something
tangible

that you can hide in your
hand

an apple core you can throw
away

when the flesh has been eaten
away

I fall into a medicated sleep
each night

close my eyes to the world
yet still

it moves around me,
pulses

like the streets of a big city
drowned in neon light

I want to touch this hook that has
gutted me

until only my body remains
the outer shell

of something living, the movement
of a clenched fist

plunged into a ribcage that
shatters and pierces the heart

they call it a dog and I know it
is animal

in nature, ruthless,
with an insatiable hunger

I am the root of the dying
flower

resistant but buried under-
ground

I can only see the sun in the
moon

the sea in a handful of salt
rubbed deep into the

wound