Glass is everywhere.
The empty road; between shrubs
And upturned wheelie bins.
It's in your hair, like dust
That sparkles slightly amidst the auburn highlights
And the blood from a **** above your
Left ear.

You can't hear so well,
All is ringing, squealing, high
And resonant above the sirens
And screams, the shop-keepers
Cursing the Gods, the
Church bells from another world
Calling out for dawn.

Oh! Take us away.
From these rivers of black,
These haggard drapes of
Bright lights and broken
Panes. This carpet
Made from discarded electrical goods,
Shoe boxes, wine bottles, and
Ash.

Who are they to do this?
To lay claim to all we have,
To lay waste to that
Which came before?
No fury from foreign lands, nor
Raging strife by nature's hands,
Has ever done what has been done.

The rain doesn't come;
Our summer is finally here,
And the skies are clear.
No clouds in sight, save for
Rolling colossi of acrid smoke. Flames
Pointing accusing fingers at an uncaring sky,
As England burns.

This stray amongst the lions, singing
Songs about the motions, while he
Shuffles on his feet, and dreams of
Birds and trains and oceans.
Inside a cage of pens and desks, his
Mind a whirlwind blowing, and his
Instinct rarely showing that there's
No real way of knowing. Be-
Neath the towering eyes of stone, he'll
Charge forth into worlds unknown. And
Maybe he'll make us all so very proud.

The jewel within the junkpile, reading
Classic works of old, and telling
Stories of a life she dreams on
Starry nights so cold. She
Takes a subtle gesture, turns it
To a work of art, and then she'll
Take a few steps backwards, turn, and
Then she shall depart. Be-
Tween two realms of parapets, she
Takes her time, but still forgets to
Return to the heavens she is from.

A seething mass of paper, screaming
Mindless riddling tricks, bent on
Giving you your fix, of heady
Sciences, for kicks. They share a
Bleak appraise of life, but still
Together it's alright, because
There's nothing they can't face, if they just
Shine a little light. Be-
Mused and disillusioned glances, and
Gaily executed dances. The
World just fades to white, and all is well.

A satin mix of music, and an
Air of discontent, disguising
All who can't repent and left to
Pick their cold descent. She
Strokes aside her hair and puts her
Hands around your waist, before you
Narrow up the space and dance to-
Gether, face to face.
Alone without a single care, the
World is left to stop and stare; and
Rain falls from the stars in darkest skies.

He stumbles round his words, and offers
Meaningless remarks, which don't il-
Luminate the dark as well as
How he set his mark. An
Awkward, crowded scene conspires to
Rid him of his dream, but still he
Doesn't let it seem as though his
Nature doesn't gleam. A-
Lone with just a pocketbook, he
Takes his turn, but doesn't look to
See if she has found her way back home.

He carries his emotions to a
Private place he knows, where the
Jokers never go, and all the
People walk below. She
Meets him at the bar, but doesn't
Take a seat beside, because she
Doesn't like this ride, and so her
Feelings are denied. He
Stares into her ashen eyes, that
Earthy depth that never lies; she
Sits and plays a tune for all to hear.

last night
i drowned myself
in music.
it was a long, slow
death,

there was
no pain; for a few
long moments
you hardly existed at all

The best advice I've ever gotten
Is to view yourself as an equal.
Everyone
Even the ones who seem perfect.
They've got the same
Everything.
They share your problems.
Your heartaches, your pains
Are theirs.
We are too wrapped up in ourselves
To notice everyone else
Bleeding.
The same way we are.
But if you take a second,
And step out of your own pain and misery,
You will realize.
We're all the same
at heart.

I sat unaccompanied
Though not alone
I had the crossword and my thoughts
Wishing I had brought a sweater

But then you smiled
And it melted the cold
Hot apple pie beneath a hill of frozen vanilla

And I could no longer tell if my goosebumps
Were from the cold vinyl chair against the backs of my legs
Or your sudden raw presence

I saw you approach the counter of supplements
And walk right on by
I wanted to tell you
I drink it black too

It was Tuesday, a little after 4

Maybe you always come here Tuesdays
                                                        ­              a little after 4

So you can be sure I'll be back here
                               Tuesday, a little after 4

I want to see if there's anything else we might share
Besides our dislike of cream and sugar
And this moment at the coffee shop

It's not just a name-tag, it's a chore.
It's a chore and you're a bore.
I don't know how long I can be this for.