I am not my Father's son.
He has abandoned me,
I abandon him.

Violence,
and depravity.
Hatred,
and sin.

They come from within.

Why would,
he let this be?
I know,
he hates me.

I am not my Father's son.
He did not conceive me,
I conceived of him.

Restless unlike the owl
I need sleep unlike my neighbours
Eyes heavy unlike the air around me
Counting sheep like a shepherd
Sleepless similes get it right once in a while unlike left
My thoughts escape me unlike the words in my mouth.
Will they be quiet? It would be unlike them.

I am tired,
I'm bored,
I can't be bothered,
I'm not in the mood.
I'm fine!

Maybe tomorrow,
Maybe next week,
not right now.

I'm sorry.

No, I'm not angry,
it's just been a long day.

Me? I'm just listening to music.
I'm laying on the floor,
the floor is cool,
I like to feel the music.

**** it,
you want the truth,
I hate my life,
I hate myself,
I wish everything was pitch black and dead silent,
I wish I couldn't even hear the sobs coming from my mouth.
I wish a whole lotta things,
I wish I could say this and not everything else.

Dying for someone is easy,
everyday a soldier dies for a stranger.
Living for someone hurts,
for her I shall live.

For her I will let them poison me,
I will let them poke and ****,
and scan and search.
For her I shall live.

Dying would be so easy,
step away from the wards,
from the beeping machines,
from the sympathetic eyes,
and just be.

For her I do more than being,
for her I shall live.

Dear mother,
I love you,
but I don't,
don't know what to do.

I've not felt right,
for so long,
I don't know what's left,
I feel so wrong.

I've walked a lonely road,
leading away from society,
been drinking too much,
and long for sobriety.

It's why I look so sad,
even though I say I'm okay,
It's why I have so much fun,
but come home with bloodied fists
at the end of each day.

I can put on that smile,
wear it with bright eyes,
but as soon as I'm alone,
the light dies.

I'm not sure what to do now,
so I write to you mother,
I know you have been through this,
we are a lot alike each other.

I hope you understand,
why I've hid this from you,
because I don't want to worry about me,
or what I might do.

I don't like pills,
or men in white,
so I've made my own therapy,
and I've learned to write.

I am painting this dark picture,
so you know how bad I can feel,
but I end on hope,
that maybe I can heal.

It certainly ain't a cure,
I don't think there is one,
but there is easement,
and I'm certainly not done.

So for now I write this letter,
and head off to bed.

Yours Lovingly,

ED

As I go past each, I am struck with sonder,
With each new face, I cannot help but wonder,
Have their lives been whole or torn a sunder
Live with purpose or live in blunder.

Hearts as complex, as unknown, as touched by others.
Friends and family, enemies and lovers.

Lives at rest or tense with stress.
Rooms all clean or clothes a mess.
Calm or angry, happy or sad.
Angel or demon, good or bad.

I know nothing about anyone’s soul.
All I know is that they have lived as all;
As strangers that I cannot begin to understand,
All of us stuck together and sharing this land.

What is life?
This is life.

Two perspectives acting as question and answer.
One, a life in search, ending in the question of death.
The other a life of striving, ending with death and nothing more.

I believe my sentence ends in a full stop,
but I have had questions throughout.
Others make statements but end in questioning.
Some ask nothing, and some are completely lost.

Which sentence is the correct one to live?
Should we bother questioning?
Or should we never be certain?
Maybe I'm punctuating my existence too much,
or not enough,
or maybe I'm yet to find how to punctuate the end of this life.
Life.
Life?
Life!

Upon the highest of hieghts,
I see the eagle soar,
I fear my fall,
as my soul blackens to the core.

I have done so wrong,
my words cut this out,
heart beats on the floor,
and inside I shout.

I have given you pain,
and it pains me still,
how do undo this,
tell me and I will.

Split,
          in two.
Shattered,
                   into a thousand p  i  e  c   e  s   .
Scarred,
               but healing.

Get the glue,
get the needle and thread,
Fill the cracks with gold,
and learn to mend.

We are all broken here,
but we are more beautiful for being so.
My scars tell a story,
its the tapestry of me.

See this white line,
I over came it,
I stepped passed the line,
and now I can no longer see it.

It was impossible to make all the same mistakes after the collapse,
what was left of humanity moved far from the deserts and found the last slivers of green earth.

Learning to grow food was easy and intuitive,
books survived and so then did knowledge,
many buildings stayed standing,
and held within secrets of the past.

Solar panels were warmed by the sun,
turbines harnessed the wind,
but oil, gas and coal had been depleted by the before people.

Deforested sands were soon seeded,
succession gave way to the trees,
and with new life poison was leeched from the sky,
the after people breathed increasingly easy.

They rebuilt all that they could,
and from the foundation of the past,
they built a new future.

Ink ran down my arm,
followed soon thereafter by blood.

"Don't judge a book by its cover."
but why then, do we cover them with art?

I wish to be bound in leather,
and printed upon so people know exactly what these pages are about.

If the beauty of a rose was what man used to measure all other beauty, then there would not be enough roses on this earth, to quantify the artistry of your smile, or even a single hair that falls so elegantly across your face. Your eyes pierce me like the dagger I feel in my chest when I look at you. My heart stopping for a moment so I can hear your voice clearly. The welcoming song of angels taking me to this heaven that you've shown me.

A dark cloud precipitates above me,
and it begins to fall,
but does nothing to wash away the pain.

I stand here, wet.
My darkened clothes start to weigh me down.
Pulling me towards the ground.
I don't have the energy to stay standing any more.

Facing down into a puddle of my tears,
I hope it's deep enough to drown me.

Every time I see you,
I die a little inside,
because I know I'll never have you.

I am lonely,
not because they ignore me,
but because I see no reason for them to care.

A rage pulsates through me at the thought of them,
but I do not hate them,
I hate myself.

I wish to cry,
but the tears do not come,
and the pressure builds up inside.

I scream quietly,
not so they don't hear my anguish,
but because I fear they won't listen.

I need help,
but have no one to turn too,
and so I will keep carrying this weight on my shoulders,
until it crushes me,
and I sink into the ground,
where I can be forgotten.

I come from a place of
broken hearts and
broken homes of
broken promises and
broken bones from
broke parents and
never a broken dream 'cause
there may have been
rough nights on
rough streets with
rough hands doing
rough work. It was,
tough times in front of
tough men and it was
tough luck yeah it was
tough then. But I
keep going, I
keep trying, and I
keep reaching, and I
keep striving. I've
been at my worst and
the worst is yet to come
but one things sure,
I'm   still    not    done.

A whole lot of waiting,
and then a gentle sigh.
Then proof of life,
and no longer a reason to cry.

A short walk in dark and rain,
to the red door wear I lay.
I let her in,
then hours of watching, as I pray.

Pictures stop and music rests,
on a violins pleasing note.
A gentle kiss sets the night in flame,
"Stay the night, don't grab your coat."

A smile across such supple lips,
passion ensues, hand on supple breast.
In bed I hear her cry,
my name is a test.

Body burns,
skin sweats,
fingers freeze.

Winter blows ice into my lungs,
I cannot run away.

But my breathe warms the air,
I make mist and let snow fall.
I affect this earth as much as it affects me;
I am a piece of this grand puzzle,
sure, without me you could probably still see the big picture,
but it would not be complete.

The note is held,
the emotion resonates deeper,
waves of understanding as the song extends much further.

A hand is raised,
a thousand and one rise with it,
reach to the heavens,
lift this song up higher.

The chord fades and the song has ended,
but the beat of their hearts echoes it for much longer,
the music has reached their souls,
and the song wont be forgotten,
until the last listener.

The goat bleats a solemn cry,
the young lamb wishes to die.
Stork up high,
beating wings against the roof,
lion red with blood,
feeds on deer with cloven hoof.
Rabbit and hare dig into the ground,
ants nest piles up into a mound,
swarm out and sting all around.
What a sight say the crowd,
rain does fall from blackened cloud,
escape from which no beast is allowed.

A menagerie of pain,
a gathering of prey,
for all, even lion, is prey to man,
all fall victim to his curiosity,
to his pride,
to his greed,
even to his efforts to raise his child.

Everything I wanted and more,
the more is the heartache.
She plays me like a fiddle,
pulling screeching notes out of the chords in my throat.
A cacophony of sounds rising from my soul.
Pulling me this way and that.
Yes,
no,
maybe.
Please, make a decision,
I'm incapable of making one myself.
She is my poison,
she is my ruin.
If it starts with pain then it cannot end well,
but I just grit my teeth and carry on.
I have learnt that I can be desired,
I have sought out reinforcement,
they show me it's not just her.
But for me it can only really be her.

The roots are old,
wrinkled,
hunched shoulders,
long and thin.
The trunk is still strong,
reliable,
holding up young branches.
Branches still growing,
haven't quite decided where they end yet.
Leaves younger still,
fruit yet to fall,
new trees shall soon grow.

Me, my father, my father's father, and his father before that.

Fruit yet to fall,
new families shall soon grow

Oh how far my eyes can see,
moonlight and stars after sunset,
Oh but, how blind I've been,
to see this world as happy.

With every mind introduced,
every being I meet,
all the stories they have told,
and all the pain that they share.

Every smile and wave,
from the people in the street,
all wane when out of sight,
because all hide discontentment.

Happiness is not a state of mind,
it's a drug freely given when conditions are right,
it's a chemical so organic and pure,
and in such short supply.

We are worriers,
we are prey,
we are victim.

We did not come to exist in a happy world,
we were born from one of hunger,
where hunters stalked the night,
where big cats and wild dogs took us if we grew weak.

Without disease, war and famine,
what else do we have to fear.

Adrenaline pumps,
endorphins race across chasms,
its not cynicism, its synaptic.

In a world free from outside forces we grow to fear whats inside,
depression is not new, it is vital,
we evolved to be scared,
but we have nothing left to be scared of,
so we fear our own humanity,
because it's all that's left.

Sixteen years I have stood on this earth,
each day worse than the last.
Sixteen years I have walked this earth,
fists clenched, angry at the past.
Sixteen years I have ran from this earth,
hoping this hell would let me loose.
Sixteen years ends this day,
at the end of a noose.

"It is what it is."
No, we can change it.
"There's nothing we can do now."
No, we can get angry.
we can tell everyone how wrong it was.
we can make sure this never happens again.
"There's nothing left we can do."
Except tell every man, woman and child what happened,
they can learn from our mistakes,
I won't let a single person forget this day.
I will scream my disappointment out at the world,
until my voice breaks.
We are never hopeless,
water can wear down mountains,
and a voice can shake nations.

Dark nights grow darker still,
as sunsets,
black souls turn blacker until,
no light reflects,
all is swallowed whole,
in this blackest of hole.

Denser than suns that once were,
smaller than hearts,
heavier than all burdens,
hanging loosely from heights,
by rope,
pulled down,
taut.

Neck snapped by force,
quick no suffocation or pain (anymore).
But chemicals still diffuse,
ions move across membranes,
impulses move along axons,
molecules are released into synapses,
one last thought,
a regretful one.

And now the seeds are sown,
and now the seedlings rise,
and now the sun will shine,
and now the life will grow.

And soon the wheat will stand,
and soon we reap the harvest,
and soon we eat the grain,
and soon we drink the milk.

And then the sun shall set,
and then the snow will fall,
and then the ground will freeze,
and then the earth will stop.

Life gives way to life,
and then it gives in to death

Upon a birds feather,
in this stark weather,
he rises into the sky with wings.
He blocks out the sun,
I hear the silent hum,
and all the world sings.
As I feel his embrace,
I see his face,
and wipe a tear away with a sigh.
All I see is death,
there is nothing left,
and with that I finally die.

I came here to watch the sunset upon the horizon
like a beast upon its prey,
so that dusk may set upon me
and I could be a man lost within the fray.
A man torn between day and night.
A man torn between right and wrong.
A man torn between life and death.
Uncertain, unknowing of his future,
unwanting, unneeding of his past.

I came here to think.
No.
I knew what I was thinking,
I came here to weep.

You have shown me hope on the other side of time,
but all I see is the void in between.
I stand at the edge and try to see far,
and I fear that you will push me in.

I see myself falling,
dark clouds, thunder and lightening surrounding me,
struck through the heart a thousand times,
and after all the pain, mania settles in.

The devil will take residence in my mind,
and where my tears have fallen,
you will see me, as I am,
a fragile man that you have shattered,
and on the broken glass of my soul, you shall rest,
and your scars will mirror mine.

I'm full of fear and my heart grows numb,
I try to speak but I'm struck dumb,
is there anyway to convey the words I'm trying to find,
I would let my actions talk but you seem blind.

I have spoke to you a thousand times,
each one just a single line,
a stutter, a silence, my tongue fumbles,
I try to think but my mind crumbles.

A flower left down by your feet,
I look up and our eyes meet,
My heart bounds out my throat,
you look at my hand and see the note.

I look in stunned silence, staring at what I hope is my fate,
you weren't meant to open the door until I'd left through the gate,
you read the letter your lips moving as you do,
you look back at my with tearful eyes and move you lips again to say "I love you too."

I am a man.
I have let my masculinity define me.
I must be strong,
I must be in control,
I must know what needs to be done.
I am supposed to be the more logical ***.
Although I have never believed these ideas,
I have let society push me into this box.

I have hid,
I have ran,
I have distracted.
This façade is a strong, intelligent man,
he bases his life on logic and reason,
he knows little about emotion,
he knows a lot about science.
He is not an artist,
he is not a poet.

But of course he is.
Of course, we all really are.

Art and language is how we express our humanity,
there is no division of the logical and the creative,
there is not two designs of thought,
we are fluid.
Nothing in life is black and white,
nor is it varying shades of grey,
we exist in full, vibrant colour.

The mask must be removed,
there should be no guilty pleasures,
there shall be no more lies,
I am me, nothing more, nothing less.
I do not fit in a box, no-one does.

I believe in nothing,
the world has shattered me,
we're all alone in this empty space,
and I can no longer breathe.

It's all just pointless drifting stars,
from dust we came to be,
there's no meaning in this place,
and we can never be free.

From chaos comes a moment of order,
an efficient increase in entropy,
I have looked God in the face,
and now I can truly see.

It's not just me who writes this,
the universe is working through me,
I'll fade away without a trace,
and not a mark in history.

I promise you I shall always be honest,
I will tell everything as I see it,
I will not deceive you or lie to you,
but I may not always tell the truth.

There is a difference you see,
between honesty and truth,
one is purely factual,
the other contains insight and emotion.

Honesty is the thoughts in my head,
it is truth transformed by my perceptions,
the truth can hurt,
my words will never hurt.

Perfumed scent,
something subtly sweet.
The smell of fruit and flowers.
Feminine life lingering,
a love everlasting.
Entwined like vines with oak,
a musk,
a man.
A lover lost on the wind.
The smell of sweat,
of passion.

I saw you across the room and knew I must have you,
that quaint smile, something different, unexplainable beautiful.
You are all I want in this world, right now, in this moment.
Not life, not meaning, not money, not happiness.
I am single minded in this moment for your touch.

But alas, I do not know you.
I know nothing of your depth,
your complexities.
I know nothing about your pain,
or your joy,
or your biases,
or your ideas.

Many people feel their heart beat faster,
they feel their mind race,
there stomach all a flutter,
they think they're in love,
but they know nothing of love.
They know only of lust,
but is lust all that bad.
It may be a shallow thought, in the moment,
but we have to start somewhere.

United are we of different charms,
poor are the weak who take up arms.
The only way we will win this race,
is if we run it together and forget our place.

Alone are we who fight each other,
the man who fights with you is not your brother.
He would stab you in the back if thought he would gain,
he does not care about you or your pain.

Suffer will we if we do not learn,
war does not heal, it can only burn.
A knife cannot prove that you are right,
only words can bring the truth to light.

But as I sit here and write this verse,
I know it is not enough to lift this curse.
Actions are needed to create a world of peace,
so go talk to your brothers, I've said my piece.

I've lost my composure,
I can't stand still.
I'm no composer,
but I play the drum fill,
of my heart beating too fast,
it's about to leap out.
I don't think I can last,
I feel I should shout,
at the top of my lungs,
but I lose my breathe.
The words reach my tongue,
as the thought is thought to death.

I can still taste that sweet kiss,
lingering,
turning,
sour,
goodbye.

I live my life in fantasy,
I am always daydreaming,
or am I always sleeping?
I cannot tell what is real,
and what is a construct of my mind.
Imagination overlays my senses.
Did I see you or did I create you?
Is the sky even blue?
Every shade of red I see in the sunset hue,
I see blue in black as all goes dark,
I see stars twinkle, but if I stare too long most fade from sight,
and as I blink, they flash back into existence.
Are they really there?
I feel as though the moon is always full, I see the dark side filling in a crescent of light.
I smell earth and metal below the wet grass but most only smell the mildew rising up as the sun pulls water into air.
Hot air above concrete, it distorts my sight.
Can I truly trust my own senses?
Maybe I should only trust thought.
But my thoughts are merely a compilation of all I have ever experienced.
What can be trusted in life?

I never did see the stars from my dark room.

I never felt the cool air on my skin,
or ever hold it in my lungs.

I never swam in the sea,
I can imagine the buoyancy,
but not the cold.

My legs never developed enough strength,
to walk along the beaches,
or climb a mountain,
or crawl across carpeted flooring.

I've felt the vibrating voices,
the calls to be.

I've tried to kick and push my way out,
I'm waiting to be pushed down,
I long for that first cry,
but I am trapped,
in decay.

This is a test,
I am the subject,
your reasoning is subjective,
you will never complete your objective.
I wont break,
I may seem a little broken but,
I'm just different.
You can't tell the difference can you.
I'm not like you
so I must be defective,
apply your pressures
and try to find the cracks,
but there is no flaw in my system,
I'm a perfect machine,
and I wont stop running.

No,
I'm not running from you,
I just have places to be that aren't here.

See,
I have a life outside this place,
I don't just freeze when the bells ring.

Yes,
I do have friends,
and a family that loves me,
and I have **** to do.

So,
goodbye,
good luck,
good riddance,
your tests are over.

A love unspoken is not a love unrequited.
It's a love unknown, a love unoffered.
A love that goes unshared, is not a real love,
it's an obsession.

I can't stop thinking about her,
but I dare not share a thought.
The sound of her name is like a hand at my throat,
I can't give away my thoughts,
of which there are too many.

Of all the letters in all the languages,
Of all the syllables,
Of all the sounds that we can make,
Of all the possible variations,
and combinations thereof,
all vibrations of air,
your name is the one I hold dearest.

The ground beneath me is frozen,
my breathe turns to fog,
the wind caresses my skin softly
I feel it's icy cold hand on my neck.

The mourning sun comes up sullen,
depressed into the horizon,
slowly rising, turning ice into mist around the grave,
burying life, and love, and loss.

An old oak stands bare behind the stone,
its bark, wrinkled and aged.
I place cold flowers, plucked from the earth,
laying life on death, so it may wilt away.

A tear frozen on my cheek,
the moment stopped in time,
me and my grief alone,
I miss you, dear friend.

Ambulatory but surely I can't run away from this.
Because, even when I feel like dying,
I know I've just got to keep on trying,
because,
no matter how steep the hill,
no matter how high the climb,
no matter how heavy the weight.
Quitting is not an option.
When you start to feel like nothing,
just do something,
because failing,
is better than giving up.
I may never reach the stars,
but maybe, my feet will leave the ground,
and maybe, I'll achieve that weightless feeling.

Sometimes depression kills what's best in me,
and all that is left is the worst of me,
and now that no one believes in me,
it's hurting me,
because I've hurt you.

I really thought the words were meaningless,
but now I see I was just feeling less,
I'm finding it hard to show you empathy,
because I'm lost at sea,
now that I've lost you.

In summer I see you,
as leaves fall I speak to you,
at winter I touch you,
in spring we love.
Another summer reminds me of your warmth,
as we fall away,
in winter your heart turns cold,
but I will break through like a chick through shell.
Burn through my dark clouds,
autumn sets kindling ablaze,
no snow can touch my skin,
my fires stoked, I will breathe new life into us,
in summer I shall see you again,
by time trees grow bare, I'll bare my soul,
and in the white landscape we shall be whole.