I want to get lost somehow,
But I've never been found anyway.
I didn't have to want to get lost,
I just am.

I have a love-hate relationship with words.
I prefer the paintbrush to a pen.
Still, I find myself expressing my thoughts through words
Though I end up disliking 99% of the things I write.

I'm quirky and awkward.
Most people would consider me weird
To the point of crazy...
Perhaps society has given me the diagnosis of insanity.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

david slayed goliath won himself a'phone
goliath he'was'gone now'he was'all alone

he went on to facebook on the internet
there a'lot of friends david he had met

then he'went on twitter tweeting everywhere
david met more friends that were'waiting there

then his time run out alone again once more
a lonely man again like he'was'before

then he lost his temper threw it down the drain
just like big goliath the phone was truly slain

I yearn to escape.
I just want to sleep forever...
                    forget deadlines and responsibilities
                           forget right and wrong
                                 forget black and white
I'm pretty content in my dreamless sleep
Unbound by earthly desires
Empty - perhaps?
                        But at the same time Free**(?)

Stupid mouth.
Shut it.
Tame my tongue.
Pure acid. Vapid from my lungs.
It cuts.
It stings.
Stings my soul.

The very thing I wish to cut.
The very thing I yearn to bleed.
Is my own.
My hands.
My feet.
My ears.
My nose.
My guts.
My guts...
My very core.

Tear my heart.
My acidity has made me numb.
Vile fluid flows in my veins.
Pray I should bleed.
Drained.
That love for my own be filled.

OK! OK! I'm awake
You come in here and put your fingers all over me
Some of you go rattling off like a machine gun
Some of you hit me so hard, I feel like I'm going to break
Then, there are those who two finger me to death
I feel like Rodney Dangerfield; how about some respect
Sincerely, your keyboard : )

PS. Thanks for the food crumbs but please keep your fingernails to yourself

Stiff-spined pigs clawing at shins,
thighs, torso; arms and head.
Effervescent atoms spit
from pressurised cans
to clouded, burning eyes.
Batons drop, judging
my ever rolling sins;
breaking bland sheet
of skin into blue, black,
red, swelling  purple canvas:
mounds of flesh,
batted time and time again.
Arm twisted, mud faced being, sinking.
Face first dirt. Cuffed, bony wrists
annoy broken-back shoulders:
unforeseen angles.
Frustrated muscles stretch
bemused tendons.
Freedom demolished,
kicking screams provoke
further chest knocks,
ambushed four to one
your body flops;
sagging over tight-gripped,
blue and black jackets,
helmets, batons, badges.
Tossed to the backseat;
prisoner of the siren.