Now that you've left me
where am I supposed
to go.
The less of me there is
the more I feel at home.

So I build my house
on emptiness, the nothing
in my soul.
Chipping away the
pieces, and digging
my own hole.

There is a flight from deep
within, a rushing urge
to leave.
So I leave behind my
nothingness and rip my heart
from it's sleeve.

Up? Or down?

My body levitates between two worlds
As I stare at the blank blue that throws me
Off this earth.

In that moment I am nothing, and everything,
And as I am suspended in time my
Mind is suddenly aware.

Aware of the rustling white noise that
Lies within silence, which hides the many
Voices of the beyond.

I can hear them now, they’re getting louder
But I know you can’t, so you ask me if
I'm ok; of course I am.

I am aware of their unreality  but
Still, I am wary not to let them know
That *I know they are there.

So I return to the floating ocean
Above, or was it below, me and am
Once again, drifting.

Lets play pretend
for one more night.
Lets not say goodbye
till it gets light.
Lets repeat all
our past mistakes.
Lets wait for
our hearts to break.

I do not love you
but it doesn't really matter.
I do not care so
both our hearts could shatter.
You perform your role
living our disgrace.
You fulfil your part
in your empty embrace.

Lets play pretend
for one last time.
Without reason
our lies are sublime.
Lets stay together
till darkness will rise
Lets be murderers
and become what we despise.

The needle drags
Your threads to my heart
Mending the places
Where I’ve come apart

And your woven tapestry
Runs lines in the sun
Twirling in circles;
I come slowly undone

It's well past midnight
In a room full of pink
Lustful stares
Meet my satire brink
I can’t have
A wandering eye;
It’s you that I miss
So I’ll go home and cry
I'm thinking of numbers
And the time in my head
How long it’ll be
Until you’re back in my bed
You said from the start
“You can do better”,
Then why do my eyes
Get wetter and wetter?
My chest isn't tight
From the nitrates and oxides
I don’t have time
For bleach blonde peroxides

an efflorescence flower
           is slowly becoming;
a long awaited hour
and a drawn out humming

the emerald fields
     of sharpening grass
                 a bed of roses
and thorns made of glass

an ethereal demeanour
concealed in the smoke
           slowly digesting
the aged poisoned oak

He wakes in the morning
More tired than when he went to bed
He makes his coffee with too much milk
The TV news is pretty much the same as yesterday
Just the faces and names may change
The rain pours outside his window
Washing the colour from the day
And he is reminded of a phrase he heard
So often in the mills
A catchphrase of despair
"If this is living, roll on death"

                                             By Phil Roberts