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Apr 13 · 281
Speak up
Kvothe Apr 13
A clipped voice,
slips noise-
the fray.

and shaky.
Bland, I know.
I hate to

in a storm,
normally deep.
I crack,
lacking wingspan.

Headcave retreat.
Feet save
my mouth.
Because the wrong
thing ran.
How public speaking feels
Apr 13 · 419
Hangover Haiku
Kvothe Apr 13
Delirious morn
Scornful of the rising sun
Someone, water, please
Apr 13 · 3.5k
Kvothe Apr 13
You are tea,
serene in your surroundings.

                                                               ­                                        I am coffee,
                                                                ­           attention always bounding.

Your colour milkish pale,
creamy optimism.

                                                               ­                              I am taken black,
                                                                ­                                bitter cynicism.

Two sugars,
to match your disposition.

                                                               ­                                     None for me,
                                                             ­       I'll maintain my grim affliction.

                                               We differ so much,
                                                     it's obscene.
     ­                                              But in the end
                                               we're both caffeine.
Repost of an old one
Apr 12 · 162
Kvothe Apr 12
An eldritch aura permeates
a palace, long forgotten.
I fell. Which may illuminate
my place amongst the rotten.

How long these ruins slept, I fear's
a desert measured aeon,
for sand has creep'd and crept in here,
a structure so protean.

This place it whispers death and dust,
a sister to the barrow.
I must escape this depth. I must!
These halls are much too narrow.

The stench of age, it fills the air,
with hints of green and purple.
Appendages, they slither there,
My thoughts they doth encircle.

A mutter on the wind calls me,
it sends my digits lame.
Fluttered eyes, where two should be,
five globules cry my name.

That fickle murmor, foe at first,
but now I know my error.
He tickles thoughts and quenches thirst.
Come, how could it sow terror?

All is well, I've found a friend,
His hug is warm and tight.
His many arms they do not end,
but wriggle, kiss, and bite.
Lovecraft inspired. I'm not sure how clear the story is. Guy gets lost in ruins. Meets some ancient creature. Creature takes over his mind, setting him at ease, only to eat him.
Apr 12 · 348
Social Smoker
Kvothe Apr 12
The gutter's
slick with
spluttered sick.
My mouth,
an urn.

I turn to
the *****
beside me.

"Got a tab
I can lend?"

He bends,

"You must
be ******."

Treat him
to a cheeky
while he
proffers up,
a smoke
to shut
my trucker teeth.

The chill of regret
my spine.
Or maybe
it's the wind.

With tab end
rammed in,
I begin
to bask
in the spin
of an "Open" sign's

the neon
does not
the shadows
on my soul.

Old habits are
prone to flair.

"This is the last one,
I swear."
Tab=cigarette in North East England, just to be clear.
Apr 12 · 1.7k
Kvothe Apr 12
A thunderclap.
Rain follows.
A sound like rot
slaps from your hollow chest.

Commuters meerkat,
as you challenge
the Silence.
Prunes for faces,
fleeing you.
Peeling from your presence.

Does it betray you?
An unspoken wall.

I hope you washed your hands.
Apr 10 · 332
Kvothe Apr 10
I do not mean to flatter, when
I say you are the moon.

Your existence lies so distant,
Yet in my sight you loom.

A tide I am to your expanse,
you push and pull my heart.

Though years it's been since we did speak,
your smile tears me apart.

A sun you've found, to orbit now,
perhaps it's for the best.

Some lips, I hope, will eclipse yours,
till then my soul won't rest.
Kvothe Apr 10
A simple spectre wrecks the calm.

O' Sleep, his absence bids the morn.

His dreams he seems to scatter far,

yet leaves my bedroom door ajar.

Although I grip, he slips my palm,

and so I greet the ruthless dawn.

O' Sleep, I'll leap at where you are,

because I've counted every star.
Apr 7 · 363
Writer's Block
Kvothe Apr 7
Putting pixel to page,
he types.


Fingers flurry away,
he swipes.


Showing symptoms of age
he writes.

Hello, I'm (maybe) back. Easing in.
Mar 2017 · 936
Mythril Daydreams
Kvothe Mar 2017
Bugs, and bogs, and battlecrys,
thieves, and trolls, and dragons fly.

Sword and sorcery,
shield and steam.
Clink and clack,
shine and gleam.

Mythril, chain, and leather works.
Sigils, pain and thrusting dirks.

Student, Teacher
words and wind.
Music, Fae,
and naming things.

Mistborn, alloys, Kredik Shaw,
Kandra and Inquisitors.

Rohan Mordor,
Minas Tirith,
Rings and Orcs,
Hobbit village.

From child, to teen, to present me;
escape, and dreams, and fantasy.
Been on a fantasy binge. If you've never read the Mistborn books by Brandon Sanderson, or The Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss, you should check them out. They're magical (pun most definitely intended).
Mar 2017 · 698
Kvothe Mar 2017
it's broken.

Soaking in regret.

Its whole heart wet,
an open wound.


Wracked brain.
Passion rattles,
gurgling, like rain.
Cracked frame,
splat, it will,
circling a drain.

Its whole heart wet,
an open wound.


it's broken.

Soaking in regret.
Rough times ahead.
Dec 2016 · 768
Kvothe Dec 2016
This bleak existence
of cisterns,
it peeks it's leaky head
above the gutters.
Shuttered **** tight.

Death is the meaning of life.

Sylvia knew it best,
resting under home,
bone heavy
and sleepless.
That jar of hers;
thirsts on monochrome
needless, overblown nerves.
Smash it!
Crush it!
Whack it!
Mush it!
Classic glassy mess.
Break it!
Fix it.
Tape it.
Place it.
Back now on your head.
Apr 2016 · 975
Kvothe Apr 2016
He says he's a nihilist.
He has nothing to base that on...
Apr 2016 · 943
Kvothe Apr 2016
A creature of the night
gazed down upon the world,
stricken by the sights,
aghast at all the pain.
A leap,
a scratch,
a screech,
a flap
membranous wings unfurled,
a flight upon the clouds once more,
is all that could remain.
'No need for me', for easily
fears had reached their peak,
a relic of
a bygone age
when cellar doors would creak.
'Man can make his own pain,
the need for I no more,
below the glen, I'll go again,
like we have once before.
But come a time,
when mankind,
can with themselves peace keep,
from out our dusky homes we'll crawl,
and chaos we will reap.'
Mar 2016 · 466
Time to sweep.
Kvothe Mar 2016
I thought
I could be someone.
I thought the world would open
up it's arms and allow the low
and broken
a home
in which to calm.
I was wrong.
Whispered dreams seem to shatter
on the wind.
A breeze of hope
whisked away the things I know
replacing them with
spinning tears.
No more near-sighted dreams.
A hurricane of plans
span it's last gust.
Leaving our future,
tumbling thickly
as dust.
Yay, pessimism. Life's been getting me down lately.
Kvothe Feb 2016
Bow to
the greatest thief that ever thieved.
I can steal opportunity from
with ease.

Bow to
the greatest liar that ever lived
I can kid
if I so please.

Bow to
the greatest killer that ever breathed.
I can leave
my dreams
Feb 2016 · 923
Hot Dog
Kvothe Feb 2016
was an attorney,
torn between his morals.
He could close cases cleanly,
no matter
the quarrel.
But his impeccable
creates a dilemma;
Tony always noticed,
as he sat down for dinner,
ignorance abound.
Astounded that injustice
was easily found.
As label managers
and *****,
excused it,
by calling it
Men lording it over
with promotions in their pants,
while Trump's on TV,
with his bigoted rants.
Tony feared
for the future,
mutual destruction was near.
In fact it's
probably probable
it happens this year.
He wanted
to vent pent up feelings,
so he
refused the judge's
shady dealings.
He lost cases
but not cause,
won activist's applause.
For the rights of the ignored,
he'd draw attention to the laws,
that were
unfair or
With his heart and his soul,
won our
It's a ****** up world.
We need a Tony or two.
Feb 2016 · 626
Mix and Match
Kvothe Feb 2016
It's perfectly fine designing
poems, not knowing where to go in
terms of content.
I've spent minutes hellbent on it's
problem, so solemn at the fallen
words on the line.
But the worst crime is finding I'm
frequently intent on a segment
that mirrors the open.
Messing around with structure trying to use only a few rhymes. Not sure, feels weird.
Feb 2016 · 884
On writing.
Kvothe Feb 2016
I mutter stuttered syllables
into shut ears,
so I'm not heard very often.
I'm not good with words,
not when
my mouth staggers, lagged behind my thoughts.
But give me time to reflect,
and I expect I could make something
worth hearing,
with your eyes.
Feb 2016 · 899
Not a Dagon by.
Kvothe Feb 2016
on that slimy isle of sea and sky,
I'll bolt the door forever more.
A depth of death awaits my soul
upon the ocean floor.
The scream of salt,
and squelch,
and sea,
more chilling than the roar.
A flash of flesh
was cause enough
for terror thoughts galore.
Returned I am,
my thoughts
beholden to
this deity of lore.
Influenced by H.P. Lovecraft's short story 'Dagon'. There's something so terrifying about the sea.
Apr 2015 · 641
Kvothe Apr 2015
When she found him,
he was a brittle bag of broken.
Drawstring taut.
Holding thoughts that went unspoken.
Opening up isn't easy,
though they say it is in theory.
When putting it in practice,
words slowly flow uneasy.
But she found her way to his heart,
started to slowly pull it's strings.
Looser and looser.
And now his words he sings.
His spine was cracked,
so she blu-tacked it back together.
His mind, a map they scrawled
on scraps of black leather.
Bandaged his ego and plastered his past.
A perfect example of a person well matched.
Jan 2015 · 961
She is.
Kvothe Jan 2015
She is the smell of new books.

Shes is hot chocolate, and a blanket, on a snowy day.

She is that first bite of big mac after a night out.

She is red and blue, side by side.

She is 8-bit games.

She is staying awake till 5 in the morning.

She is anaphoric.

She is oblivious.
Kvothe Dec 2014
My childhood was a lonely one,
sat dust-lunged in my room,
while others had fun,
I'd sit in the gloom.

Surrounded, with old books and toys,
football, at all, wasn't my thing.
Not 'one of the boys',
my own lonely king.

Ruled empires, of plastic and prose,
my imagination, sensational flights of ideas!
It actively rose,
along with my fears.

Oh! But if chance would be given,
to redo those days in new ways,
same way I'd live 'em,
in radiant haze.
Nov 2014 · 3.0k
Kvothe Nov 2014
Oh! The poet in me,
a werewolf is he!
He likes to come out
when the looming moon,
shines it's brightest beams,
to disturb my daytime dreams.
Coaxing howls,
and whines,
injected with subjective lines;
predatory metaphor,
tapping at my chamber door!
Only hollow howls, to those
who don't hear the instinct growl
to this canine condition;
those who don't spend their days,
thinking, or wishing.
Predator of poetry,
prowling over prose.
A beast of the blue moon syndrome,
after the curtains close.
For the last two months I haven't made time for myself to write, tonight I fix that.
Sep 2014 · 495
"We all float down here."
Kvothe Sep 2014
Sometimes I read poetry for a little reinforcement...
I'm not the only one with a mind like fine china.
Sep 2014 · 1.1k
The Word Orchard
Kvothe Sep 2014
Words are like fruit,
hanging freely,
really just waiting
to be plucked.
Some tantilize the tongue
with sweetness,
pieces meeting
our mouth with
juicy meaning.
Others leave
a sour shock
to our senses.
When this
bitter biting
the now rising
sense of
we recoil.
Curling away
from the
not so ripe
for a  more
cohesive cocktail's
Just a little thought on writing
Sep 2014 · 901
Kvothe Sep 2014
She's the kind of girl,
I'd worry about losing.
But she'll never know.
Sep 2014 · 1.8k
Kvothe Sep 2014
Sometimes for me,
grasping reality
is like dipping my digits into a bathtub,
full of fruit jelly...
The more I tighten my grip,
the more this
belly-filling preserve will slip
through my fingers.
I ponder this problem...
daydream or realdom

Then I realise
**** it,
I have a bath full of jelly now.
Coining 'realdom' now... I apologise to grammar
Sep 2014 · 532
Moth you always win.
Kvothe Sep 2014
You brighten up my day,
like a lightbulb does a moth.
You illuminate my way,
so I can gorge myself on cloth.
You know that it's to you I flew,
you like to play your games.
But if I get too close to you,
I tend to burst to flames.
Sep 2014 · 537
Kvothe Sep 2014
My head is a haunted house,
filled with windy ghosts,
and skeletons that battle,
that will rattle,
in the closets,
like the chill upon my spine.
The basement filled with vampiric comments,
******* self-esteem,
as though they were starved of it.
A tower stands where I have crafted a monster,
from the old corpses of guilty thoughts.
The streaked mirrors on the walls reflect twisted visions,
folding my reflection heavy-handedly,
as if they were packing them in a hurry to leave.
if I could run, I would too.

It's terrifying in here.
Aug 2014 · 626
Kvothe Aug 2014
I have forged my problems in cold grey steel,
unfeeling still, my reeling will.
Two to my mind:
I hurt her...
and the other,
vice versa.
A forge full of regrets,
to temper my mind
with worry and upset.
Guilty for my mistakes,
a blade I've made,
of panic.
Everything said
shimmers on the shining surface,
a reflective face,
that holds the feeling in place,
with a pommel of folly.
If I could,
I would take this weapon of regret,
that fooled you,
both, and steel myself.
Aug 2014 · 484
A United Kingdom
Kvothe Aug 2014
The country is ******.

No need to stand on ceremony,
eloquency can take a backseat,
because the country is
F. U. C. K-ed.

The innocence of  your youth yells,
as it is mashed between the ******, gritty, fingers of reality.
The faces that entertained the nation,
now assess success by how many kids they've touched,
rather than how many lives.

Parasitic politicians nesting on their mother,
mocking the masses
with two digits raised,
pass it of as a V.
For victory.
But wash away the Crocodile smiles,
and it stands for something a little less inspiring.
Misers of moneyless citizens,
sitting in,
a generation of tiny Tims,
because the oligarchy hordes,
the power and our sense.

The problem is we allow it.
Yeah the country is ******.
But so are we...
"Yeah but what can we do?"


Now you're asking the right questions...
Jul 2014 · 462
Kvothe Jul 2014
The little bird flew down toward my heat,
it took a present for it's starving child.
A throne I made upon a rocky seat.
The trees let loose the whistle of the wild,
against an azure-crimson battlement.
My nose awash with nature's verdant scent.
Before I sleep I promise no respite,
as clocks tick-tock in counting away light.
Jun 2014 · 563
Kvothe Jun 2014
I'm no Wordsworth,
but I'm a wordsmith,
and I'm definitely a Wood.
Watching films and comic books are the things at which I'm good.
I'm romantic in my heart,
but my mouth has rational shout.
My namesake is a forest,
so it's no surprise I'm branching out.
Jun 2014 · 728
Kvothe Jun 2014
Archaic Archeopteryx is my spirit animal,
a fossil in a niche,
not concerned with walking mammals.
Whether lyrics rip sick new tears in reality,
like 666 the beast that's brewing in my belly.
Zack de la rockin', and I'm blocking out my worries with words,
twist a sentence like an arm, feeding my guilt to the birds.
Killing in the name of peace,
killing for that long lost spiritual release.

Pick a part to play in life, but so many covers,
don't concern myself with me, validation from others.
Jolts spark dark with an air of uncertainty,
bleached bones bathing in the acid of society.

Toxic to the touch, lead in the lungs,
a blur in the vision, and a pin on the tongue.
Born of a broken man, bandaged with spoken poetry,
the anti-spider web spun by the flies of normality.
Not born as a ghost,
but destined to become,
gather the people under the sequel of the still warm sun.
Rage planted the seeds,
with rap I watered through,
trimmed the shoots with abstract thought, now watch this flower bloom.

Pick a part to play in life, but so many covers,
don't concern myself with me, validation from others.
Jolts spark dark with an air of uncertainty,
bleached bones bathing in the acid of society.
More rap than poetry.
Brought to you by a lifelong love for Rage Against the Machine.
Jun 2014 · 506
Kvothe Jun 2014
I feel I've found a home,
in this self-deprecating zone.
Like minded...
and I don't mind likeness.
Kites though,
I do like those.
Soaring without care,
but carefully full of direction,
directly diverging from our reflection.
The zenith of our spirit,
battered but full of its name.
See that's the beauty,
it still fights,
and takes flight,
though it struggles all the same.
Let it fight.
Let it stumble.
Let it rise from the ashes like a phoenix.
stronger for it's struggle.
My spirit will be a kite.
No lightning strikes my tether.
My spirit will be a kite...

...and it will defy the whims of weather.
Jun 2014 · 680
Heedless Hero
Kvothe Jun 2014
Knock knock...
Who's there?
It's the fire in your belly,
just checking you're aware...

Hey, you know... I'm still here...
I'm not going anywhere.
It seems I used to be volcanic,
now I  barely singe a hair.

Magmatic in my golden days,
when did I grow dormant?
As you aged you acquiesced,
not living in the moment.

Rekindle my cinders,
your indifference is abhorrent.
You used to fight for your beliefs,
now the white flag is a soaring.

Give me white hot purpose,
give me a voice that roars,
the Beastie Boys fought for their right,
why can't you fight for yours?

You only get one shot,
you chose a pushover to the core?
Don't be the heedless hero,
be an involved...
Jun 2014 · 1.3k
Why I'm like Scooby-Doo
Kvothe Jun 2014
I'm a nervous wreck,
my anxiety gets so high these days,
I can feel it in my neck.
Pulse. Pulse.
Beat. Beat.
Nervous as ******-Doo.
As if a monster roamed the street,
to turn me into stew.
But my monster is my self,
I'm my own worst enemy.
He keeps me shackled up,
so the world can't see true me.
I guess it's fine though,
I've become an introvert of late...
I still like an adventure,
but it's usually on my plate.
Jun 2014 · 388
Natural death
Kvothe Jun 2014
Does my time come? Reaper standing blinking,
I like to think I died overthinking.
Excellent at excelling the ceiling
of believing thoughts, to life I'm breathing.
Not comfortable but familiar,
my sweeping leaving thought: 'I'm out, see ya'.

Because I've grown accustom to dwelling,
on scenarios, in my mind yelling.
Yellow bellied lizards, listing in lisp,
elder trees tapping branches. Once more! 'Tisk'
Judgment daisy is here, with it's cold cheer,
passing by plausible baubles, why here?

So that's it, gone, done, dusted, broke, busted.
Esoteric to the last, brain's rusted.
I'll join stars, atomic consolations,
constellations racing for their placings.
Childs play maybe, yay the triumph of toys?
Oh. No. I think a light wave. Yes. White noise.
Jun 2014 · 378
Life is a musing
Kvothe Jun 2014
‘Tell me, O muse, why is it you’re ******?
Could it be that it’s me?
My thanks are they remiss?’

Yes it’s you, you selfish fool, you have made my list.
You thank another, yes, your lover,
when your poetry I’ve kissed.

I am inspiration, not he, she, or it.
You did not have a clue, give credit where it’s due,
you lying *******.

I will warn you only now, you no longer have my aid.
Complete me, entreat me,
and your parts they will be flayed.

Invoke me once again and forever be disfigured
That’s your lesson, any questions?
That’s what I figured.
So the greek gods were pretty fickle, I imagine the muses would be too (since they were the daughters of Zeus).
I thought it would have been funny (I have a terrible sense of humour) to interpret the muses as these really jealous control freaks, who would always want priority, so yeah... that's where this came from.
Jun 2014 · 1.1k
Artisans of pretence
Kvothe Jun 2014
When did the measure of your worth become a brand?
Banded sneakers, streaking vibrance,
vibrating mobile nuzzled in hand.

These do not make you.

Backward cap, for a new era,
sagged pants, swagger stance
for this hoodlum hoody wearer.

These do not make him.

Gucci bags and other tags,
designer purse, cursing contraband,
fake names make her gag.

But these do not make her.

They say don't judge a book by it's cover,
so why a person by their assets?
if it were asserted by another...

Belongings do not a person make.

Kindness, courage, compassion, heart,
personality, wisdom,
even a love of art.

These a person make.

Take some time to introspect,
inspect the way you see yourself,
You'll be happier for it I expect.

You make the person.
Jun 2014 · 4.2k
zo|/_ sleep
Kvothe Jun 2014
There's a nail,
he's set up camp in my brain.
Hammered with daylight,
held infuriatingly fast by night.
Even the stiffest claw
would be of no use,
not anymore.
His presence would herald slumber,
were I of a normal stock.
But no. He brings attention to
the tick. The tock.
If I inch him further,
with fervour,
maybe he will abdicate,
adjacent to his entry.
But I know he'll return,
pitching by the morn,
leaving my rest
May 2014 · 1.0k
Kvothe May 2014
Introductions are never easy.
Mousy boy.

Ankles shackled.
Lungs rattle, relentless battle.
Loose phlegm, filling falling castles.
Under no pretense.
Moat; a barrier of defense.

Where voice is a drawbridge
Oscillating flow.
Open bandage.
Darkest window.
Public speaking = My bane
May 2014 · 2.4k
Kvothe May 2014
You are tea,
serene in your surroundings.

                                                  ­                                                         I am coffee,
                                                         ­                        attention always bounding.

Your colour a milkish pale,
creamy optimism.

                                                      ­                                           I am taken black,
                                                          ­                                           bitter cynicism.

Two sugars,
to match your disposition.

                                                   ­                                                      None for me,
                                                             ­             I'll maintain my grim affliction.

                                               We differ so much,
                                                     it's obscene.
                                                   But in the end
                                               we're both caffeine.
May 2014 · 992
Life (10w)
Kvothe May 2014
Never take life too seriously...

We're just a punchline anyway.
May 2014 · 352
I've hit a wall
Kvothe May 2014
They say write what you know...

But I know nothing.

My name is Jon Snow.
May 2014 · 616
Perspective (10w)
Kvothe May 2014
Does my voice dictate this verse,
or is it yours?
May 2014 · 1.1k
My (very) nervous system.
Kvothe May 2014
I want you to fall in love, with my mind.
They say that romance is dead.
Aesthetic adoration is too easy to find.
I will dig deeper, doting the components of your head.

I ask that you return the favour.
No need for laboratory lobotomies.
There need not be forced labour.
I wear my heart on my sleeve.

And my mind on my mandibles.
I speak it. Repeat it.
The source inches above my clavicle.
It is replete with ****.

But it has it's moments too.
Though it's subject matter is grey,
a lot rings true,
from this pinkish purée.

I want you to find the harmony,
with my spinal chord.
And say with absolute certainty:
We will never be bored.

The feelings, that from my brain stem,
will be fully frontal.
From my toes to my cerebellum,
I would be yours, in total.

I want to fall in love with your mind.
Invest me in your intellect.
It will take time.
But it's all temporal in introspect.
May 2014 · 191
How I sleep at night
May 2014 · 332
Kvothe May 2014
Do shepherds count sheep
to sleep a soft wooly sleep?
Or do they count cars?
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