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David Jun 2015
We danced away
under the misty starlight.
I was lost in your eyes.
Oh,
what a night.

We woke up
under sheets of rich
red rose-coloured garments
of silk and lavender.

We kissed,
touched,
and cuddled
through the sound of rain
hitting the roof
and through the roars
of lightning
and thunder.

We strolled
through an enchanted,
rich meadow,
and trekked
through the mountains
all covered with  snow.

You looked at me
and told me,
that I should know:
that you love me.
That you wouldn't let me go.

And in that moment,
I said it didn't matter.
That the words weren't necessary.
That they would only get lost,
fragile sound waves obscured
in the chaos of the ether.
Like tears frozen in frost.
I said I could feel it anyway.
I knew it.
That you didn't have to say.
And in that moment,
we were perfect.
Everything was beautiful.
No pain;
except
when *I woke up.
You always wake from dreams.
David Aug 2014
Dangling spider: without a care,
calmly floating in the air.
Oh, if you only knew
how much I detest you.
******* *****.
I'm getting the shoe.
Just something I wrote circa 2010. Found it in an old notebook.
David May 2015
I am a mash-up of mishaps, strange facts and movie quotes.
A cacophony of cool dancing tin hats,
and concerned-looking men,
watching in white lab coats.

I am the hungry seagull searching for salmon,
dodging waves and annoyingly landing on ferry boats.
Dropping gifts to the sunbathers by the  shore,
they never seem to appreciate.
Until they do, I will just drop more.

I am the spinning cactus made of rock.
I am the wealthy, rich millionaire
who sleeps in cheap hotels
and wears odd socks.

You are the last bit of toothpaste
you squeeze out of the tube
before throwing it away.
I haven't brushed my teeth all week.
What more can I say?

I am the broken toy tossed under the bed.
I am the breaking glass, the slamming door,
the words misquoted, misused,
and more than often misread.

I am the one who bites off
more than they can chew.
I am the one who tries and
tries and
tries
to
forget you,
but can never quite seem to.

I am the one who stays up late
sometimes,
to ponder, wonder,
and write these confused, riddled rhymes.

Today is Sunday,
and yet it's already tomorrow.
In my mind, there is no time:
But there is sorrow,
and bursts of joy
and glimpses of hope
and snippets of happiness
and times where I cope,
but most of the time?
Nope.

But today is alright.
One of two poems I randomly wrote today in the car
David Jul 2015
If you spit blood
while brushing your teeth:
it could be a sign
of gum disease.

And if you feel
pain and distress
it might be a sign
that you're depressed.

And if you are
anything like me,
it could be a sign.
It might just be.

If you ache
and you don't know why,
it could be sign
that you need to cry.

And if you cry
and there's no relief,
it could be a sign,
that like a thief
life has taken its toll
and its becoming too much;
and now you've grown
cold to touch.

If this sounds
anything like you
it's probably a sign,
that there are two.
That together we fall.
and that what you're going through,
is nothing new;
so hold onto something,
anything,
and I will, too.
David Jun 2015
6 AM,
but I woke up yesterday.

I go to call her,
but she's not awake, anyway.

At this time,
I'm the only one awake.

And I just can't forget her
, for heaven's sake.

6:05

My alarm goes,
but I'm already up.

I drift off,
almost,
but not too much.

I close my eyes,
and see her face.

I pull up the covers,
and feel her embrace.

So I wont
fall asleep,
dream,
or close my eyes.

Not until
my unconscious mind
can realise:
That I'm tired
of being awake
in a life
that gives nothing
and only takes;
and that I'm tired
of not
being able to rest
without being reminded
that the best
thing that happened to me
is gone,
and now I have
no one.

I am lost,
but I think I'll be okay.

6:15 AM
and it's a brand new day.
Insomnia.
David May 2015
In my hotel room,
I pace the floor.
I hold my breath, count to ten:
She's out the door.
Alone again.

A few seconds of silence
feels like forever.
Lighting her cigarette:
Time slows down, stops
when we are together.
So it's too bad  
we blank each other out.
Both invisible.
"Please see me,"
I scream,
I shout.
I am miserable.
And need to feel something.
So on my hand,
I put it out.

And it left a mark.
A reminder.
That I could never
and didn't deserve
to find her.
To hear her words,
be in her thoughts,
to feel her touch,
to walk her floors.
Or to enter her house,
to open her doors.
To be washed up,
from the rough seas,
to safety on her shores.

Her city's wine was bitter
but sweet.
Under the darkness
and under bed sheets.
I felt a warm breath,
smooth,
Alive:
My haven.
My sweet retreat.
And heaven it was
hearing her heart beat.
Reassuring me
that she was there.
That she might feel something too.
That she might care.

And that wine:
Sweet but bitter.
A cruel mistress.
Covered in glitter,
glowing and shining
under bright neon lights,
dancing,
intoxicated,
high like a kite;
foggy of thought,
fading,
leaving,
disappearing
and gone
into the night.

And if you're reading this,
and you might:
Say something sweet,
Please say that I just
misunderstood
and that it's all alright.
Or say nothing at all
Don't raise me up
or bring me down
with your words,
your call.

But sometimes I stop and wonder:
Do you remember me at all?
I hope not.
I hope you don't recall.
It's best if you forgot.

Yes, it's best if you forget
the time you let
me hold you and pet
you, cold in the room
where we were warm,
with the window wide open,
smoke seeping out
from your cigarette.
We weren't supposed to smoke in there.
Something you'd regret.
But they cleaned our ashtray, anyway.
Nobody seemed to care.

You never seemed to care.

Opening the door, ready to leave,
you gave me a look
I could not believe
Did I ever meet you?
Was it all but a dream?
Am I now awake?
Is my life now seen?

You closed the door and became a stranger
and from that point on,
like seeing baby Jesus in his manger,
I knew the end of this story.
"No love,
no glory."

Crucified and all I got was this T-shirt.
I feel your pain, Jesus,
I feel your hurt.

Well,
I suppose I shouldn't look back
but it's quite hard
to put these memories aside,
to discard.
And to write rhymes
knowing full well,
like some hopeless, unfunny
drunk Irish bard:
That she's no longer mine.
She was never mine.
And I can't get over it.
Can you tell?

And can you tell:
That every unconscious breath
causes pain,
and every conscious thought
causes hell?
That I climbed up
into the lofty heights of my hopes,
that I climbed too high,
that I slipped,
and I fell?

And I am still falling
Her name,
I keep calling.
As I continue to fall.
Falling.
The taste still lingering.
Falling
and forgetting it all.
A sort-of prequel to 'Tell her'
David Jul 2015
Maybe if you weren't alone tonight,
you wouldn't feel so empty;
and you just might
think that it's pointless now,
and it looks that way
with the words you sent me.
I want to help
but I'm not sure how.

But maybe if I could hold you
just once:
you might not feel so small,
for once.
Or perhaps you'd feel
nothing at all
and believe me
that's not what I want.
I hate it when history repeats.
And I hate the feeling of being cold
while under bed sheets.
So let me make it warm again.
Let me try
to ease the pain.

I wish I could make
those bad thoughts go away.
And I wish I could hold you strongly
in my arms,
someday.
And that I could feel you
wrapped around me, too:
And I wish I could make it all okay.
And I wish
you wouldn't go.
I wish you would stay.
Darlin'
*Please stay
David Jul 2015
I appreciate your silence,
I'm serious,
just a bit delirious;
due to drinking some special tea:
which I took, regretfully.
But soon I'll be normal again,
and back to me.
Love y'all
David Jul 2015
Do me a favour:
And get out of my head.
I'm sick of your memory.
Of you,
and all the things you said.
David Jul 2015
Sapphire seeds setting where the sun bleeds,
bleeds her life into an un-lovable Earth
that leaves its ones in need.

But beg and plead
she will never need
your unmatched lack of reciprocity,
Your bitterness,
your cold looks.
Your hurt eyes:
go and leave with them. I don't need them.

You had me and you spoiled your
unsatisfied sappy sucker sun
dried heart shrink wrapped
around me in the cold.
And it wasn't cold for once,
just for a little while.

But what the earth gives she takes away without reason.
And how dare you question
when she so cares.
You hate her now but she's all you have.

And she's all you were ever going to have.
Ungrateful hurt little
you were so
so
hurt.
And you thought that was the worst?
Well go on, and hurt.
and hurt.
and keep on hurting until blood becomes your bath
and pain becomes your food.
You deserve every ounce of it.
Hurt
and hurt
Go on, hurt
hurt like you hurt me.
Like I have hurt so many times before you.
And cry
and yes, cry,
with your crocodile tears of astonishing self loathing.
Cry your ******* eyes out baby
I loved you
and you said
you needed me
but you only kneaded me into nothing
with your projector-like glances of
'oh, I think it's bad now.'
Go on, cry now.
Show the real you.
A weakling,
undeserving of my time.
Sit there and sob
and write your silly rhymes.
You disgust me
David May 2015
The nights are cold
and the days,
they are long.
Another sleepless night,
wondering what went wrong.
And my thoughts,
they whisper to each other
constantly, keeping me awake
as I lie in bed.
Over and over,
a cacophony of confusion
let loose
inside my weary head.

For the problem lies not
with words misused
or words misread,
but with the ones which
were more than often unheard,
and much too often unsaid.
The words are again unspoken; the feelings,
repressed, and unwoken.
I am left broken.
Shackled
and caged behind the bars I've made
for myself.
Down.
Down.
Down, I am laid.

And as the days becomes long, the nights grow colder
and every waking moment I grow
just a little bit older.
A familiar darkness comes,
creeping closer.
A harrowing feeling thaws through me.
Tapping a touch upon my shoulder.
It wears a dark cloak and holds a scythe.
It offers, like many times before
to release me from this life.

But not just yet.
For now,
the noose hangs loose.
And my wrists covered.
And the sea waves silenced
and those thoughts smothered,
just for now.
It's that time again.
David Oct 2016
This is a poem for no one in particular:
I hope you're doing much better now.
I know how hurt you were.

I could be anywhere,
and I would not expect you to care
because people change;
like the passing of the season.
Feelings fade.
and this is not without reason.

I cannot put into words
what you meant to me.
Why are the things we miss the most,
the things that weren't meant to be?

I am lost.
Without direction.
Although I got my ticket
I missed my connection,
and although I go on,
I cannot look forward:
only at my own reflection.

Looking back at me,
I do not recognise myself.
I don't want to,
I wish I were someone else.
The person you wished I were.
The person you thought you saw.
Somebody with something more.

Did I deserve this?
It's not for me to say.
Did I intend for this?
Did I want this?
Not in any way.

And so I continue
to continue
to trick myself into forgetting,
stop regretting,
and not letting
the thought to exist.

Except in tiny slices of memory,
that still linger and persist.
You were the best thing that ever happened to me
And yet you were the worst.
You were the last person I ever knew,
not only the first.

Yet if I could erase my recollection of you,
I surely would.
I would do it in a heartbeat,
If I only could.
But I can't.

I can't stop thinking what I've lost.
And how I am only to blame.
Like the naked bitten by frost.
David Jun 2015
Tossed into the muddy reservoir of bad choices.
You are the words coming back to haunt me.
You are those voices.
I am all the times you thought you knew better;
I am the constant reminders.
I am the torn up love-letter.

The unread magazines that hide your drawings.
The bitter, black coffee
that picks me up in the mornings.
The way the sun comes out earlier this time of year;
And how the rain comes and hides, and obscures
the tears.
The hello's and goodbye's,
forced
and insincere.
And the voice that whispers:
"It's alright,
have no fear."
And the other voice that whispers other things
I'd rather not hear.

I am all the decisions you wish you hadn't made.
You are every note,
out of tune
or misplayed.
You are the soundless symphony;
the forgotten serenade.

You are the one I haven't met yet.
The rising of the moon
and the falling of the sun set.

I am the poems never read,
and the songs never sang.
I am door never opened;
the telephone that never rang.

We were the story never told,
and the feelings never shared.
The ones that didn't live to ever grow old.
The empty box, written with the words
"Handle with care."
Another poem to myself.
David Nov 2015
Hello?
Who am I?
Guess again.
Don't you recognise my voice?
No?
Why?
Well, you can hang up,
It's your choice.
But I just wanted to call
for old times sake.
You know:
Those times where we'd talk
at times we shouldn't have been awake.

Are you still there?
Can you hear me?
Oh, right.
You don't remember me.
Maybe I have the wrong number.
Well, I guess I'm sorry.

But before you let me go,
There's just one thing
I want you to know.
At the end of December,
when the mountains meet the snow.
I'll think of you, as always,
and I'll remember.
How it was me,
who once heard
your hellos.
David Jun 2015
Her city's wine:
Bitter but sweet.
Under the darkness
and under bed sheets.
The scent of cigarette smoke.
The sound of heart beats.
Sore lips, smooth, soft.
They say,
"That which starts bitter
ends sweet."
But that goes both ways.

And that wine:
Sweet but bitter.
A cruel mistress.
Covered in glitter,
glowing, shining
under bright neon lights.
Floating up
and away:
High like a kite;
And leaving, disappearing
gone
into the blackness
of the cold
starless night.
Just some thoughts.
David Jul 2015
She has no interest
in talking to me anymore.
Like a broken toy,
used, and tossed
onto the floor.
Forgotten and thrown
under the bed;
played with then put away
because to her,
I am dead.

And to the world
I am dead.
I breathe,
but with no purpose.
I do exist,
but without meaning.
I am awake,
yet there's no focus.
And I sleep,
but there is no dreaming.
I am dead.

And she has no interest
in talking to me anymore.
And it's all my fault.
I wish this life
would just grind to a halt.
I destroy everything good
that ever happens to me;
And it's only the sweet promise of death
that can set me free.

I am dead.
Or rather,
I wish  I could be.
David Jun 2015
Not dead,
yet slowly dying.
But you can't fault me
or blame me
for trying.
And I'd be lying:
if I said I didn't miss her,
Or that I didn't want to kiss her
again.
But it's too late for that now.
Too much sorrow.
Too much pain.
She gets on fine without me
so why can't I do the same?

I don't know.
And doubt I'll ever.
It went by so fast,
when we were together.
Now I'm stuck here,
alone,
in the cold rainy weather.
Wondering whether
you even think of me at all.
If you're feeling as I feel
or you're standing up tall.
I wonder a lot.
Wondering if I should call
only to be put on hold.
All my life I've waited
and now
I've already grown
far too old.

I remember now why I forget.
Killing me slowly
like smoke from your cigarette.
Filling me from the inside.
Invading me
poisoning me.
A little mistress of death
I wish I had never met.
I am ill.
David May 2015
Soft.
It was soft,
I remember it well.

Lost,
and dazed
under its spell.

Faint
but alive
is its sound.

Gone:
Not here
but not lost.
It is found.

Alive
and beautiful
and perfect.
and not mine.

Survive
and go on
I can do it.
I'm fine.

Bright,
shining,
sensitive
and subtle.

Gone,
up and off
disappearing
into the night sky
like  
a space shuttle.

It won't come back.

Shiver,
up my spine
in my soul.
Down my spirit,
taking me whole.

Please come back.

A silent weep
that no one hears.
Nobody knows.
and No one notices
the tears.

Tired,
resting but
there is no sleep.
No dreams.
No escape.
A silent weep.

Asleep,
but now
there is no rest.
Tossing,
turning.
I tried my best.

And my best
wasn't good enough.
No redemption.
No forgiveness.
No hand
in glove.
And no smile.
No kiss.
No laughter.
and no love.

Pulling,
the covers over
but still cold.

Found,
a four leaf clover
but the wind
took it
from my hold.

Her eyes are closed.

Remember,
the memories cannot die.
It won't be forgotten
no matter what you say
no matter how you lie.
No matter what you wish,
no matter how much you try.

Clouds,
they fill up the sky.
What happened,
who,
how,
when,
and why?

The details don't matter.

Calm,
comfortable,
and content.

Thrown,
not here.
Away,
I have sent.

Please come back.

Like a boomerang
come back
to me.
even though
I threw
you away.

Vampires thang.
I'm bitten.
And no longer
sleep in the night,
but run and hide
from the light,
from the day.

Please,
let the wind
blow it back to me.

Deserving,
I am not.
But I ask,
I plea.

How,
can destiny
conspire against me
so tragically.

I probably deserved it.

Soft.
And weak of will.
it was soft.
I remember it still.

*I will always remember.
I will always remember
David Jul 2015
I think  I might be done.
I'm not having
any fun.
I think I'm coming
to the end.
I truly wish
I wasn't serious,
but, my friend:
I am.
And I can't keep it up
any longer.
Not that it's a surprise.
It's no wonder;
She never said her goodbyes
so I might not either.
I wasn't worth the words,
the time,
so why do I
waste all of mine?
David Jan 2016
Dry eyes,
cloudy skies.
A kiss on the cheek
and we say our goodbyes.
  
But I don't want to.

Lonely walk back,
along the cobbles and cracks;
Better not step in them.
Now I'm lost.

Wet shoes.
Train goes choo-choo.
Cows go moo-moo.
I don't have much left.

Think.
I think.
And I can't stop,
but I mustn't drink.

I know what happened last time.

Shut the blinds.
The sun is out.
I am in.
With you, I'm without.

The covers are not your skin.

In a daze,
every day.
Autopilot,
I guess you can say.

Time flies without your voice.

Pathetic boy.
Focus on other things,
help someone.
Make someone smile.
Have their joy.

It doesn't work
David Dec 2015
This year there is no snow,
just the typical rain.
But how are you doing, anyhow?
Things here are generally the same.
You know:
Falling in love with your face in strangers,
though I don't know their names?
Getting annoyed at sappy Christmas songs,
and playing pointless games.
As you can tell,
Not much has changed.

I thought about getting you chocolates,
but it's far too cliche.
Besides, maybe you're on a diet,
maybe you'd give them away
but it's the thought that counts, I suppose;
and I couldn't count my thoughts of you,
God only knows.

And if God exists, and he is a he,
and he is just, and he judges me:
I won't make it past those pearly gates,
and you, again, I know i'd never see.
So it's times like these I'm glad to be an atheist,
or at least a serious agnostic.
Or my mind, It would be gone;
assuming I've not already lost it.

Come to think of it:
Now that you're gone,
maybe it doesn't want to snow.
Or maybe it's just global warming;
maybe, I don't know.
David Jul 2015
Stop trying to be everything you think the world wants
and just be.
And don't bluff.
Don't bluff for once in your life and just do.
Do what you know you must.
The path is clear now.
You don't need hope,
faith
or trust.
Just let go
and forget everything you know.
David Jul 2015
Barely keeping it together.
just trying to stay sane.
Remembering,
forgetting,
regretting;
and no one to blame:
Except for myself,
for all the days
wasted in dreams,
the unread books that lay,
lonely, on the shelf,
among the unfinished drawings
and forgotten magazines.
I am freaking out,
losing it,
falling apart and tearing
at the seams.

But then some new shiny thing passes by,
catching my eye
like a magpie,
and I am distracted
once again;
my mind, soothed.
A temporary bandage
hiding the pain.
And thank God for the rain
that comes and washes away all the filth.
The mess that just piles back up again, anyway
But thank God for that short-lived relief.
Even if only temporary;
and if you think it's foolish to cherish
that which is temporary,
just take a stroll through any cemetery.
And tell me something that doesn't die.
In the meantime, goodnight,
godspeed
and goodbye.
No
David Jul 2015
No
No rhythm, no structure, no order.
Just like your life
that you hold onto so much
without cause or reason to.
**** yourself sweetheart,
or somebody that matters to the world.
That doesn't need another self-depressed loner
with a pocket full of
quivering
self indulgent
lines of just ******* life from the world
so frail and done.
Doesn't deserve.
tired.
wants it to end.
At least pretend,
please,
Not this.
Not the suffering of a thousand past lives
regressing and regressing
into the insurmountable stormy oceans
or heartache and regret
and times you kept
telling yourself to hang in there.
Just hang in there a little longer.

Conclude a  predictably worthless life
and just don't look at me while you do it.
Turn the lights off.
I don't want to see you.
David Jul 2015
Non-existence is calling.
Sounds good to me.
To be erased.
To no longer be.

And if I try
to burn away
the remnants of the past.
The sweet catharsis I would feel
simply would not last.

A ticking time bomb:
destined to self-destruct.
And the promise of an end,
a sweet release,
has me hooked.

And if you saw me,
you would not be able to tell:
That every conscious thought
causes pain,
and every unconscious breath
causes hell.

And though I'm on the brink,
I think I hide it well.
But it can't last forever.
Nothing lasts forever
and my facade of deception
is certainly no exception.

But by the time it's clear,
it will be far too late.
My mind is filled with fear
of my mindless self-loathing,
and my inevitable
fate.

Non-existence keeps calling.
Sounds awfully good to me.
To finally have some peace.
To finally
be free.
David Sep 2015
Persistence, my friend;
and determination:
can mend
all the wounds of misfortune;
and the the scars of your past.
Your scars and wounds
stand nothing
to time.
For in time, no pain lasts.

So press on
Press on,
like they said in times
where there was no choice
but to press on.
And you have no choice.
for If you don't,
you will very soon be gone.
That's not to be morbid,
and not to be grim,
but you know that as well as I do,
so it's with persistence
you must glow
and with patience
you must brim.

And not to say that you are weak,
but the pain you feel
is nothing unique.
So persist, my friend.
Do not fall with hard times:
Press on and find
the solace
you so sincerely seek.

Stand up
when you feel like you must fall.
Stand up when you cannot stand.
Stand up, anyway;
and stand up tall.
That, my friend, is greatness.
To rise above your own self-doubt.
To rise beyond limits.
To rise above it all.

Persistence, my friend:
Persistence is key;
for until that fog clears up,
you will not see
your limitless potential
and all the infinite beauty
that lies not beyond the horizon,
but just around the bend.
I promise you will find it:
But only with
Persistence, my friend.
David Jun 2015
Hanging from the ceiling,
waiting for the next sweet hit.
Baby, I love that feeling.
Give me all of it.

Don't hold back, darling.
Hit me where it hurts.
Let it all out on me
and hit me like you mean it.
Hit me
like I'm your first.
I don't deserve anyone's best:
So give me only your worst.
Be my prizefighting poet,
throwing only punches
without speaking any words.

And love,
please,
take off that glove.
I want to feel you,
and only you:
And I want you
to feel me, too.

Don't stop.
Even if it kills me.
Not like I planned to live that long;
hit me and
keep on hitting.
It's the only thing
that thrills me.
Is that really so wrong?

And when you're tired,
weak,
worn,
and all done in:
Close the door and leave me here;
and go and gently
snuggle up to him.
And you know
I'll be here when you need me,
just like I've always been.
No metaphors here...
David Jul 2015
Picking up the pieces from a life half-lived.
Shoving away the dropped dreams that lay
on the floor.
Pacing the room where you lied to yourself
again and again:
Ashamed, you close the door;
and you think to yourself,
that there could've,
should've been
much,
much more.

And yet you continue to be on the side.
In the backseat of your own life.
You are regret
personified
and it's doubt that sits in the front
that's taking you for a ride
straight down the line
to a grave with nothing written on the headstone.
And before you know it
you've lived out your life
and now you've died
with nothing to show,
nobody that minds
because you
are all
*alone.
David Jul 2015
It's never quite as romantic as they make it out to be.
These trips to France
or Spain
or Germany.
To the misty mountains of Iceland,
the wine-toasting grottos of Italy.

The romance comes about a half-hour before sun rise.
Catching, counting
and losing count
of the stars you see in her eyes.
In those sincere sighs
that come after the heartfelt goodbyes
and the soft smiles in those happy hellos:
Those are the ones
that let you know.

Romance is not a place:
It's a person.
And when you find them,
hold them close
and never let go.
Or you'll be destined to dwell on the past
and to dream only of tomorrow.
With a head full of regret
and a heart full of sorrow.

Don't let it happen to you
like it happened to me.
Hold her close, for heaven's sake:
Or lost
you will forever be.
David Jun 2015
Basking in self-pity,
I pour myself a  drink.
Time alone always gives you
plenty of time to think.

Standing on the edge of the abyss;
I am on the brink.
And I just can't get over it.
Only further,
I seem to sink.

"You again, with your self-pity"
Is what you'd probably say.
Because you'd rather I pretend
that everything's okay.

I guess I'm guilty of being honest
in a world consumed by lies.
A world where it's easier to ignore,
walk away,
and close your eyes.
David Jun 2015
You tell yourself,
that if she wanted to talk to you:
Then she would.

And she won't.
She wants you out of her life
for ever.
For good.

There are others
in her life.
Yet no one else
in yours.

The clouds fill up the sky,
your eyes;
and when it rains,
it *pours.
It's 3am. Can't sleep.
David Jul 2015
Saints and pychos are not born,
but created
by a world without meaning
where nothing at all is sacred.

I have no plans.
I've lost my sense of self.
I'm on the edge something dark.
I don't think
I can be helped.

I always wanted to make the world a better place.
But I'm not used to getting what I want.
The world has kicked me
in the face.
And a growing hatred starts to haunt.

I don't know what's coming
but it doesn't look good.
Something terrible grows inside me.
Keep your distance, I think you should.
David May 2015
Upon the crumbling leaves and dying trees,
I saw you from afar.
The fields so green, a place for me,
somewhere it wasn't so hard.
I walked and walked
and wept and wept
and wandered
for it wasn't near,
guided by a sound that whistled through the wind
it whispered, "Please be here."
I got lost, it took a while
but in the end I found you there.
For once just to meet your smile,
for once to be under your care.
And though my sight was often sithered,
I never stopped following that sound
until the trees weren't so dead and withered,
until lush and alive was the ground.

I stumbled through the rich meadow of your warmth.
I tumbled through without a care.
I clumsily waltzed through your world.
And trampled on your fruit laid bare.
And when that cold moon rose,
and gone and left was the sun
and you saw me at my coldest
after I already had all my fun:
You turned your eyes away from me
you despised what I had become
I broke all of what little hope you had,
and now you wait for none.
Saying sorry wouldn't cut it
for the damage was all too done.
We've read this chapter and it's time to close it.
The dream, dear, is dead;
and you,
my love,
are **gone.
A week of seeing her in dreams and this morning, half-awake, this had to come out.
David May 2015
I'm going away for a while.
If you pass her by:
Tell her I miss her.
Her voice, her smile.
But tell her "boys don't cry".
Tell her I'm sorry,
though she already knows.
Tell her I still think of her,
say it though it shows.
And tell her I meant to say
that I wish things hadn't gone that way
that I wish I gave her a reason
for wanting me to stay;
and please tell her
that I'm not begging
or pleading
or wasting away.
Tell her I'm carrying on,
tell her I'm okay.

Tell her she's been in my dreams
and that last night I held her hand.
Tell her the cat gave my tongue back to me.
Just tell her, she'll understand.
Tell her it made me feel alive
to once again feel her touch.
Though feeling alive without her here
is not feeling very much.
But anyway,
tell her that I miss her
and that time we sat by the docks,
she knows,
I really meant to kiss her
right there,
but now I sit alone
and watch the clock.
"Time
goes by
so slowly"

Tick Tock, it goes,
Tick Tock
Tick
Tock.


But tell her I'm not lonely.
Tell her I'm quite alright.
I never needed someone to love me
or someone to hold me tight.
But tell her I wouldn't mind it
if she called me,
or took the time to write.
Even just to say good morning,
good afternoon, good evening,
or goodnight.
Tell her I was alone before I knew her,
that I got on just fine.
Just now it's but a little bit harder
So I'll sit down and sip on her city's wine,
I'll savour that bitter-sweet flavour,
and I will be
just fine.

Tell her Rome has fallen,
the war is over,
and I have lost the fight.
That she's better off without me
That what she did was right
But tell her that If I could go back,
and she knows that I would,
that I wouldn't hesitate to do it right
no matter what way God, fate, or karma
says it shouldn't or should.

Tell her I hope she's doing well
and that it isn't too late.
Though she might tell you
that too late it is.
And perhaps that's just fate.
Maybe we weren't made for each other,
like I had really hoped.
Maybe she's meant for another
and that's just how it goes.
Or maybe she needs nobody at all.
No one there to stand her up.
No one there to catch her fall.
But tell her I'm happy for her either way.
Tell her it's fine
Tell her it's okay.

But maybe you shouldn't tell her
anything that I have said.
I think it's best
for all of us
If any memory of me was wiped
away
from her head,
and she just forgets me instead.
It might be better if you tell her
That I never said a thing.
I think it's best if she forgets
Her forgetful little fling.

But wait.

I was more than that.
"And I know because she said so."
Tell her to forget my insecurity,
and please tell her,
because she might not know
that I was just scared
so afraid that she might leave,
that she might go:
That I pushed her away
that I pick up whats most important
disregard,
then foolishly throw.
But tell her I didn't mean it,
that it wasn't supposed to be so.

Tell her only good wishes to her I send.
That I was in the wrong.
that 'There are cracks in the walls
that I can't mend."

Again, to quote a song.

And tell her I'm a fool.
Not that she needs to be told,
because "only fools rush in"
and with her,
my heart was quickly sold.
Tell her I played the game,
I gambled,
and now all the dice have been rolled.
Tell her it's a strange feeling.
Tell her that "I will never grow so old".

Tell her when I asked for her kiss
and saw that look in her eyes:
I thought then she never wanted me.
Tell her I believed my own silly lies.
Tell her before I didn't see it
But God, I see it now.
Tell her I have to live with what I've done
but I'll get by somehow.

Tell her that in the airport
(for maybe she might laugh)
I was kicked out of a prayer room
for sleeping on prayer mats.
And as I lay on those mats,
a movie quote came to mind
"See you in another life
when we are both cats."

Maybe some meaning
I hoped she might find.

And tell her, before I forget,
on our last walk
she splashed a puddle
and I got wet.
But I didn't mind,
I didn't get upset.
Just tell her,
because I might not get a chance
that as she skipped, jumped,
gravity making her tied hair dance
"Well, it suddenly struck me,"
as she splashed that puddle:
and I knew, then and there,
I won't lie,
I would not deny
one
last
cuddle.
But such is life,
and life
is unfair.

Tell her I hope she finds her little house in the snow.
I won't be there, that much she will know.
Sad and regretful, maybe,
but spiteful I am not.
Tell her that I love her still.
Tell her
she'll always be my little teapot.
A poem that isn't relevant to my life situation or anything. Everything in quotes is either from a song or a movie. A lot of things that only one other person will get but still
David Jun 2015
Thank you
for being there
when no one else was.

Thank you
for telling me
I meant something,
Just because.

Thank you
for coming by
when you know didn't have to.

Thank you
for helping me
and taking me under you wing.
For guiding me through.

Thank you
for opening my eyes
to the things I hadn't before seen.

Thank you
for making me aware
and for telling me what it means.

And thank you,
sincerely.
For all that you have done.

Thank you,
my dear friend,
even though you have gone.
To a friend.
David Jul 2015
In a room full of people,
yet you feel alone.

Always in the house,
but you never feel at home.

The one you dream of
doesn't know you're there.

And you care too much,
when nobody seems to care.

You are sitting still
but your mind is racing.

Your face seems calm
but you heart is pacing.

You are alive,
but feel so dead.

You exist in the world,
but only live inside your head.
David Jul 2015
It's not in loneliness.
There are many like him

It's not in not having
for whatever he has
means nothing.

It's not in despair
for it is pain
that means he's living.

It's not in facing
his utter purposelessness
and cherishing it,
because that's all he has.

It's not in recognising
his own meaninglessness
and finding meaning,
because that's all he knows.

It's in moments of brief escape,
in tiny deaths
in dreams
and waking dreams,
where he is awake.

It's in seeing
the others
and knowing they weren't made the same.
They were made perfect,
unable to question their existence:
to not know such pain.

It's in his utter contempt
for his fellow man;
His blind hatred
for all living beings.

It's in a world
in flames
and falling apart
where he finds peace.

Prowling the earth
sparing nothing.
Only a cruel God
could've made
such a sorry beast.

And the beast stares into himself
and coldly confronts his own emptiness
He does not know why.
Agony to be awake.
To live is to die.

That's the pain of being human.
Cast down into the chaos of history.
To be born and to die, for nothing
it seems.
And to go on, without question;
without knowing
what it means.
David Jun 2015
A car is speeding
down a stretch of road.
To have her prince,
she kissed a toad.


The car stops
to get some gas.
She would never
have her prince
if she gave
that toad a pass.


It stops.
Someone steps out
from the car.
They start to walk
but not too far;
to a house,
surrounded by trees.
Hidden in the hills.
Obscured
by the autumn leaves.

They knock on the door
three times,
and no more.
But he is not answered
for nobody is home.
So he walks away,
and he
is alone
just like before.
Just like old times,
he tells himself
that "less is more."
So that it doesn't hurt
quite as bad.
So that he doesn't feel
quite as sad.
And like going insane;
a man gone mad:
He forgets the things
that he once had.

So again in his car
He is back on the road,
and at the next red light
he pauses, because he knows:
He could've been her prince,
but now
he'll always be a toad.
Stuff and stuff
David Jul 2015
This world
takes you
and holds you
and shows you all that you could have.
Then it forsakes you
and throws you,
cruely,
into the bone crushing groundswell,
the fountains,
the wells,
and tells you to sink or swim.
Do or die.
Survival of fittest.
and you curse the sky.
David May 2015
I lay there, still.
Frozen.
Trapped again in the prison of my thoughts.
Paralysed on the bed.
Trapped once again.
Scenes spiraling in my head.

The image is etched into my mind,
carved coldly when i close my eyes
and like closing your eyes
after staring at the sun:
it wont go, it has just begun
to hurt.
This is no fun.

Trapped in the prison of my mind.
The prison of my room.
Of my house,
my life,
Her face,
voice,
singing,
talking,
touch,
touching,
taste,
tast­ing,
tingling,
Trapped.

Locked with the key thrown away.
Locked to my self,
alone.
Tomorrow and every day
Why?
I can't say.

And the pain,
Like a sliced vein:
It won't stop.
And its killing me slowly
as I call her name,
she doesn't answer.
She will never answer.
Never again.

Well, there are other girls;
It's not the end of the world,
I say to myself.
I will get over it in a while,
I say,
so I can half-fake a smile.
So I can fake it through another day.
I don't really need her,
I say,
bleeding and aching.
I'm fine.
I'm okay,
I say,
**I'm okay.
Some more melodramatic drivel I came out with some week ago.
David Jan 2016
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David Jun 2015
The aching behind my eyes.
Passing strangers
and their silent sighs.

I've lost my way
but pretend to know where I'm going.
And I like it this way.
The right path is not worth knowing

We all die eventually.
It's not that sad;
it's no tragedy.
And I don't expect you to care
or to even remember me.

And will I be remembered?
Probably not.
And if in fact you knew me,
you will say you just forgot.
it's late

— The End —