Water  rushing  down  the  drains.
And  through  windswept  country  lanes.

Trees  brushing  water  away  with  their  leaves.
Birds  sheltering  under  the  eaves.

Pools  on  the  lawn  appear.
It,s  a  dreadful  night  I  fear.

Pitch  black  little  to  see.
A  new  day  may  set  us  free.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

words stick to the soles of my shoes like ABC gum (gum that's Already Been Chewed)
and I'm tired from always picking off what little bits I can
exhaustion hits me hard
and as I finally lay me down to rest
I get hit with a jolt of lightning that sends my mind spinning on a quest to jot my thoughts down

it's scary sometimes
how I always wake at the same moment
over and over
like an endless cycle of deja vu's

looking up from my breakfast
I've got nothing to lose

peering out from my window
I've got no right to choose


and it's crazy how my visions
always seem to come in twos
they wrap around twice
and I'm left confused
I don't remember which what is which
or when each why was wanted
I feel like they've been switched

the lights flicker when I'm dreaming
and my eyelids always twitch

my life is not a poem
it's a body in a ditch

it's a waste of breath,
but I still tell you that I love you

I know it hurts sometimes
to read between the lines
but there is a meaning hidden beneath the words I speak

another wasted day
but it's okay
there's still tomorrow
I'll have one more chance to
try again
and attempt to reattach all the parts of my life and my world that keep unraveling

if every shadow fell in place
we'd be connected
but the sun rotates too quickly
and we can't travel fast enough to keep up with its light

I had a wish
or two
that never came true
and every time I see a star,
I feel like I'm just being shamed
and overlayed with this blue hue
coating me
from the moon
I get so lost
I can't even let my life resume
I've been disrupted
like a noisy, untamed children's classroom
never saying what I really want to say
it's all locked up
and even my poetry doesn't know a **** thing about me

cigarette butts
stained red
from desperate lips
dust her feet
from the ashes
drifting down from the tips,
where they flicker and burn
at the point they've been lit
by shaky hands of a woman
who can't give up
and quit

knuckles bruised blue,
bits of bone showing through
her head hurts from voices
telling her what to do
noises screech loudly,
she hears something new
then she takes her own life
when no one has a clue