No this will not be an ode to creativity,
Nor will it be an epithet for emotion.
It will not serve as intellectual *******,
Nor an attempt at pointless immortality.

I write simply cause I do,
Much in the vein of walking, eating, breathing.
It is an instinctive process of nature,
Like a lion hunting a buck.

No I do not strive to write.
I do not search for muse or flavour.
On occasion a bolt from the heavens
Will find its way through my pen
Onto a paper
And like the village *****
Land up discarded on my floor

This is not a love letter to myself
I did earlier confess
I write simply cause I do
Its nothing more than a natural process

Do you ever feel like everything around you isnt where you were supposed to end up?

Like the thing you are would have been different if you were stronger
Like if the music wasn't so loud it might be easier to think about what's right
Like the shouting makes a difference in what you should do
Like knowing how everyone around you feels
Selfishly and curiously and sadly
I know

I look you deep in the eyes
and whisper beside your ear
that sends shivers down your spine,
you're so beautiful...
Then cup your face and kiss you
gently
on those perfect lips

another day of vinegar soaked

words.

another play on keys, as we drift

through winter days.



curtains dragged across the gloom,

early, yet while light lingers later,



we wander to the snowdrop drift, hear

the last bird call.



hear the dog at pentre farm, barking.



later hear the water fall from

broken drain pipes.



soon it is february, lighter

nights.



sbm.

The truth went away
And what you are left with now?
Perpetual lie

Roads divided
And hearts are blinded
By pain

For what?

Brain is pounding
Sirens are sounding
Insane

Enough?

I am still young
I could gaze at the sun
For years

what cost?

I have lost friends
But they weren't, in the end,
I tried

I lost

I want to be that thing for you
when water reflects all the scenery above it
I image cypress
to be dimensionless
that's what I want

gaping wounds,
wide eyes,
steady streams of life trickling,
draining my body
of the happiness it once held.

pain doesn't always have to be externally felt,
does it?