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Mouthpiece Dec 2018
i’ve neglected this site over the last year, for reasons both traumatic and proactive. but i promise you all, every last person i’ve come into contact with on hello poetry, that i admire you and care deeply about you.

certain people i’ve come to know more than others, deeper than others, more intimately than others, but i’m thankful for every last one of you, for better or worse. you have all not only given me unparalleled support, but also the confidence and belief in myself to come out of my shell about everything i’ve experienced, and the belief that my poetic endeavour were not as futile as i had thought—so much so that my first book is due to be published next year.

so, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for everything, and have a wonderful christmas and 2019.
Mouthpiece Jan 2015
You always say such charming things:
'What did I do or fail to do that has me living this way?'
Oh the misery it brings, it must really break you;
Let the ground grow a hole that'll swallow me whole.

'There's a ***** hair on the seat!'
Are you over the edge this week, or will I see you again --
Stood aboard a crowded train with that same old, same old
Face, so cold? Let the ground swallow me whole.

Oh it must be a dog's life you live -- it must!
I wrote this piece last night, and it's a finger in the eye of the people who complain about the stupidest things in life, yet, refuse to change them. So hard done by, but still eating three meals a day, often more; still having the most expensive clothes and gadgets. Would you shut up? I really don't want to hear your 'problems'.
Mouthpiece Sep 2015
Some people are yet to lose their mind.
They're the people I pity the most.
Mouthpiece Feb 2018
You said
we should die together
just decide to end it all
one day,
go out in our own way
on our own time
just the two of us

you are seductive like that

I told you countless times
I loved you;
that's when I died
and I don't know about you
but I think that
we're both dead

we just never chose how.
I miss you.
Mouthpiece Jun 2018
you only ever
see the champ
never the
forgetting everything about myself is easier when I’m drunk and surrounded by people who say they care but they really don’t. Don’t get sentimental.
Mouthpiece Apr 2016
People don't know what they need
Until you give it to them;
I wanna give you something,
And the icicles in my kitchen
Are just begging you to warm them up
To temperatures the room's meant to be.
I've turned up the gas mark,
And there's an ashtray at the ready.

I've got this funny feeling
That I was the first against the wall;
Are the many more men to turn up
Who wear the wrong kind of uniform?
If we listened to our parents
I wouldn't own a globe bar;
But my mother was right about girls like you.
They say you've got to laugh.
I wrote this a while ago with the sole intention of writing without aim or purpose. This is what came out.
Mouthpiece Oct 2015
Deliver me to delirium, my sweet;
Help fade my ills--sink the ships
That ferry the earth from A to B,
With the sedating nature of your lips.

Take my hands and lead me to the trance,
Which has rested between these frozen sheets
For far too long, praying my demands
Are met, alone with you, somewhere in my dreams.
To add to 'the album' or not? Spare of the moment write. Still, in my eyes, Self-Harm is better.
Mouthpiece May 2016
The strobe lighting always makes
You feel a little bit sick;
Somebody's locked themselves in the bog
For a quick, naughty sniff,
And some *******'s spilt ale on you
And your best jeans are stiff;
That's just how nights go, but they're
Worth putting up with,
'Cause there's this bird over there,
And she's giving you the eye;
You'd be making her breakfast
If you bothered to try.

Are you sure her future husband's not stood behind you?
Stand back and watch, son; give the lad his ******* due.

Yeah she's a diamond in the rough,
But she'd tell you to get to ****;
No speed-reading her lips,
No dictating her hips;
She'd see right through you
And how you're acting up.

On the train back home,
And there's not a shine in the sky,
But your sunglasses cover those
**** holes in the snow you call eyes;
The club's stamp is still on your hand,
It's not budged from last night,
And you're smoking whilst on CCTV
But it'll be alright
'Cause in front there's a ****** girl
And you're imagining her kiss;
It'll stay in your head though,
She'd be having none of it.

There are others in the carriage and you'd easy get in their knickers;
But your gag reflex would kick in once you smelt the stench of kippers.

Yeah she's a diamond in the rough,
But she'd tell you to get to ****;
No speed-reading her lips,
No dictating her hips;
She'd see right through you
And how you're acting up.
I wrote this piece in this style, as this is the kind of life I lead: a British working-class, binge-drinking, hungover journeys home; generally deplorable and unpoetic. But, the piece has a serious meaning behind it: men are under so much pressure to be the alpha male, to do the chasing and to be the brave ones who approach women to whom they are attracted, and in this day and age, it's sad. Why women don't do this, yet expect men to do it strikes me as a bit of a double standard. One should never expect somebody to do something they would never do themselves. Of course some women will happily approach a guy they like the look of, but, let's be honest here, how often does that happen? It's *******, man; there's no need for competition in this day and age. We don't need to fight to pass on our genes. If anybody likes another person, go and introduce oneself. The alpha male thing ruins the gender; it makes those who perceive themselves as alpha males act like arrogant arseholes, and those 'beneath' them are often ignored. It's ****** if you ask me; or maybe I'm being resentful? I dunno
Mouthpiece Oct 2016
There's a coldness deep inside
Those I see dead before their time;
Forgive them, for they know not their sins
Or the reasons why.

Will it come to be
As my worst fears see?
The ills carried on the winds
By voices that never speak.

Look deep into their eyes;
Watch the lights go out one last time,
Waging wars no one wins,
And our flags still fly.
In view of recent political turmoil and escalating tensions between nuclear powers, I imagined the end of the world so vividly that I was convinced it was real. After it all, is it really worth it? For all our political ****-waving, is war ever worth it? Sadly, it's the poor of the world who suffer the most. They're the ones who are caught in the crossfire; their the ones sent to die for somebody else's belief or desire. And now, more than ever, people need to smell the reality of war: it is organised ******, a racket, and nobody should be expected to fight and die for something purely down to the lottery of birth and the dogma their country indoctrinates.
Mouthpiece Sep 2015
Confusion has been rife of late;
I'm hanging on to the **** end of the stick,
When it's not the time or the place,
As if my life depends on it.

I can see the remains of love
Running black rivers down the length of your face,
So let me give you a shove;
We haven't got the time to waste.

Reveal all your secrets and weep;
I know of the dirt that hides under your nails;
I promise I'll laugh if all else fails
Because my life is equally bleak.

Moths run rampant in my underwear,
And the working-class lifestyle isn't for me;
But with you, I learned to love poverty
Whilst kidding myself into believing you were there.

I've drained enough fluid from my soul
To care not if you break the skin from time to time;
Because I write about you using my blood, you know.
Every single poem I've written about love (despite the obviously obsolete), have been about this girl. She's the one who breaks me, makes me, and generally ruins my life in the best way possible.
Mouthpiece May 2015
I remember that night as clear as day:
The way you talked, and the way
You struggled to walk in your high heals. When you swayed,
Which chalked my outline on the floor, paved
With some sort of adhesive, which I have stayed
Stuck to, distraught and helpless, since you walked away.

I recall how the smoke glided around you
And reluctantly broke away, swirling off into
The night. The way I choked, after never being used
To being speechless. I froze, and madness ensued
In my head and heart; no prose would suit --
Any I could have chose, but all would be unfit for you.

I'm petrified that I might go blind again
If I see you; my eyes burn all the same
When open wide, and looking at your picture in a frame
Completely mesmerised, as all around me is razed
To blatant lies, like the years gone by like I say.
I remember that night as clear as day.

That squeeze you gave me did not last long,
But to me, it felt like a lifetime. After being strong
Without you, you broke me with a single glance,
And that unequalled smile and coy stance
Tore my life into millions of pieces,
And sewed it back together with imaginary kisses.
You're in the page, right here in front of me --
Despite being the other side of the country
And just a montage in my mind from when you filled the room,
When it was made official that I'd met my doom.
It's all well and good, wanting to be friends,
But unfortunately for me that's not where it ends.
I refuse to let my love end in any other way,
Because I remember that night as clear as day.
I think this describes my current quandary perfectly.
Mouthpiece Jul 2017
I don't want words
To spoil this drive
This nostalgia
Of homes I long for
Of homes I don't know exist
Of paired major and minor chords
Hummed by melancholic winds
On quiet beachside roads

Nobody cares
And I'm glad
Neon leads the way
Neon takes me back
To hypnogogia
Unfurling as liquid
And I'm not happy or sad
Just unplugged
Astronomical Twilight is the last part of twilight prior to the actual nighttime, when the streetlights come on and you know that you'll be shouted at if you stay out any longer.
I had an obsession with neon as a child.
Weird one; more like a swirl of numbness inspired by Home's Resonance.
Mouthpiece Feb 2016
I've got these fantasies,
Runnin' 'round in circles
Not bein' careful but rather
A little too care free;
Babe, you should see the mess they've made
Of me behind the scenes. Remind me
A little later to tell you 'keep it secret'
'Cause it's for your eyes only,
But for now I'll shut that door
And ask you one more time to
Get on your hands and knees;
Look what you've done to me.

Baby, I'm neck deep;
The endin' ain't what I imagined
And far from what I wanted to see:
Tiny beads of sweat and your bedsheets soaking wet,
But now I beg and plead
For the scent of your perfume to
Intoxicate my room and leave my memory.
I was ****** to assume
That you could be tamed or seduced so easily;
Now I spend hours picking flowers
To remind me of what you do to me.
I'm a banquet for the daisies.
Falling in love or being in love is he most wonderful way to watch yourself die.
Mouthpiece Feb 2017
Sixty beats in a minute,
Mouthing binary;
Are you talking to me?
Six slow blinks per hour;
Are you looking at me?
Your windows look half empty.

Read between the lines.
Read between the lines.

Closed circuit TV,
I've got my batteries;
Here, see for yourself:

I don't have dreams, I swear;
I'm not here or there,
Not here or there.
I'm neither here nor there;
I don't dream, I swear,
Don't dream I swear.

(But I can tell fine lies.
I can tell fine lies).
A critique on modern day, or modem, society. This piece follows somebody originally talking to another person, that appears more like a machine because they've lost the irregularities that come with being alive due to the rules we live by. He tries to get the thing to break out of its programming, know more than its fed, to break it out of its machine like habits, as they can only know and do as they're told.
Then, the speaker is spotted by surveillance cameras (CCTV), in other words, big brother, the people who make and enforce the rules, so has to convince the watchers that he's just like any other android and doesn't dream or have opinions. Then, under his breath, he acknowledges the lies he's just told, because the ability to tell lies separates us from the machines they want us to be, reassuring himself that they'll never take the humanity out of him, or us, that we can't be programmed and powered by artificial things.
I see people that look programmed exactly how the powers that be want them to be every day, and it fills me with a terror. Still, I know it'll never happen to everybody, but it's something we must all be aware of. Call me crazy if you want to.
Mouthpiece Apr 2016
Give me an hour in Heaven
Before the Devil knows I'm dead,
To behold what I have done,
Before I meet my friend.

I have just one confession:
The taxman has pennies to take,
And I take ibuprofen,
To **** my headache.

I build the very bombs
That turn our rivers red;
Give me just an hour in Heaven
Before the Devil knows I'm dead.
Mouthpiece Aug 2016
Once upon a time I thought I heard the angels sing,
Now I'm falling through the universe, bellowing--
No, don't save me--

Bellowing in vain, searching for the symphony that exists somewhere,
Searching the ether, moving heaven and earth, on a wing and a prayer;
I pray to God the Devil cares

Because you stared down the barrel
Of the empty parts of me,
Purged all in your path at my peril,
By witchcraft or sorcery.
Will my fires rage forever in history?

I knelt at the pulpit as you glanced the grindstone,
Ordered me to comfort you with my fond memories of home;
There were none

As my lovers found their faith in some other shrine,
Jesting as I trembled the path along their guidelines,
Reloading their carbines,

Because you climbed down the barrel
Of the empty parts of me,
Purged all in your path at my peril,
By witchcraft or sorcery.
Will my fires rage forever in somebody?
I chose the word 'benign' for two different reasons, both relating to the word's two dictionary definitions. There are also two subject topics in this piece, which is what makes living benign from a personal perspective. This again, relates to the two definitions. I'll take the time to explain if you're that way inclined. I wish HP would allow writers to annotate their works.
Mouthpiece Oct 2016
Soles on the felt so bare and cold;
A brave girl watched from a window.
The wind three floors up feels routine,
The final breath tastes so clean;
Took a step back thanks to the Devil I know, but

Between the sheets, I sleep with a cigarette
Between the sheets, I sleep with a cigarette.

Laugh it off and go on with the show,
But I ain't as clean as a whistle;
I'm dying to reach the moon
And avoid hitting the soil too soon;
That's the nature of the brawl, 'cos

Between the sheets, I sleep with a cigarette
Between the sheets, I sleep with a cigarette.

I prefer death to revealing talk;
Left the bar but was too drunk to walk
To the river, that's the secret
I wrestle with and wish I kept,
And I still don't know how I got home, now

Between the sheets, I sleep with a cigarette
Between the sheets, I sleep with a cigarette.

Soles on the felt so bare and cold;
A brave girl watched from a window.
The wind three floors up feels routine
The final breath tastes so clean;
Took a step back thanks to the Devil I know.
I'm going to be quite candid now. If you made it this far, today is significant. It's world mental health day. Today is also a month on from when I stood on top of a roof, ready to jump, only to be stopped by somebody watching me. The night before, I tried to throw myself in a river. Guys, don't suffer in silence, please. Don't keep secrets. Be fully aware of your mental state. These thoughts aren't supposed to happen. The only constant in life is change, and things will change. Don't try and find a permanent solution to something that will change.
Be in good health!
Mouthpiece Mar 2016
Business workers
Scuttling in the rain:
Dark suits and
Black umbrellas,
Keeping their woes warm,
Instead of letting
The rain
Wash them away.
We are not born to pay taxes and make some big wigs richer. Revolution is needed.
Mouthpiece Jan 2016
Why am I here?
That's a question I've asked myself many times,
But what difference does it make?
I'm the result of a twenty something's mistake, so deal with it
And stop watching broken clocks trying to guess when the time is right.
Though, you ought to know that, at night, the only sounds
I hear are those of empty pens scratching paper
And the cogs in my head grinding to a halt
Because I deliberately threw salt into my wounds.
I'm not as calculated as I thought; but does that matter?
The stale blood that stains the floor is a sight I've seen before
Because I don't feed myself food for thought;
I don't drink bleach and hope that I'm reborn.
Instead, I focus on the web of worlds at my fingertips-
By force or by choice, I don't know which.
What I do know is that my fists clenched something so tightly,
Something I refused to give away lightly until you came
And asked so politely if you could have it.
I said yes.
Now I cannot stress how much I regret my decision nightly
As I play doctor with rock n roll, excess cheap ***, bottle necks and tourniquets.
None of them did the trick or stopped the itch;
I need a proper fix--the one I found in you.
I don't know what to do but hurl myself into stacks of needles
And mounds of barren skulls that remind me that I'm insignificant.
I fail every time to find you, and I wonder afterwards where life went.
Why am I here?
That's a question I've asked myself many times.
I've decided to add this to my fictional band's debut album Mouthpiece. I hope you find it a fitting end to the poems I have included in said album.
Mouthpiece Jun 2018
keep secret
the crimson wakes
ebbed on your
screaming out
your steaming sands
when you’re bound
in twitching chains
drenched in the dead night
and gagged
and choking in
my bare hands
with a wide smile

we can’t speak of
your rattling bones
our scorched friction
and our guttural
carved into you
with my teeth,
cutting into you
like my embedded fingerprints do,
pulled out
by my mouth,
forced out
by my invasion

we **** like
endangered animals
in our own
dimmed corner
dogged and primal
shrouded in
evaporating sweat
and salivating libidos
with which we’ll
paint your room

nobody can ever know
how we cast shadows
on your cave
we take it
bound and crushed
to the grave
love is only ever blind by choice, not by nature. love is blindfolded. anything that doesn't fit perfectly into our own tiny little ideal box is dismissed as worthless. it must end.

will probably end up rewriting this.
Mouthpiece May 2018
your borrowed body
is not yours
for me to fall for

i love your mind
and nothing more
Mouthpiece Jul 2017
Cut the year up
Boil and bleed it dry
It divides so neatly
Quarters have never hurt us

These streets are bald
Polished grey shutters
The best money can buy
Protect the glass, keep it clean

Please ring your bells
I feel hungry now
Just have a look at the mess you've made
Are you happy?

Go right ahead
Put me in a box
Do you know if I'm dead or alive?
Neither do I.
Boilers is a name I use for people who boil everything down, or attempt to, to the fundamentals, ruining the mystery and wonder behind whatever they've boiled down.
Science, although I'm a fan, can destroy art if we're not careful! If we take our knowledge-seeking too far, the beauty of art can be tarnished.
The last two stanzas are a more irregular shape to show the boiling down and deformation of 'art'. Each stanza has 22 syllables in them besides the last, which has 21, which demonstrates that the rhythm--art--is ruined if we break things down too far.
We break down the things that exist naturally (years), and that leads to things slowly becoming boring (bald), leading to corporate and dull and transparent, then we pick apart the humans and condition them (hence the Pavlov's dogs reference), then the metaphysical (Schrodinger's cat reference). Inside the box we're also dead, as we're placed with places with predetermined barriers.
I tried to write something deep at least.
Mouthpiece Feb 2017
Show me the colour of your currency;
It's such a shame you're not in the best of health.

I don't need you
But you need me,
Even if I do
And you don't.

Show me the colour of your pennies;
It's a shame you're not in the best of wealth.

I don't need you
But you need me,
Even if I do
And you don't.

You're in the red;
We can change that.
Your skin is red;
Let's turn it black.
You're almost dead;
I'll strike a match.
Browning like bread,
And that's that.

Show me the money
Or else.
N: an economic model in which nothing can exist without the potential for private profit. Sick people die if they can't pay for their medicine/surgery. Forests are purged for the creation of cheap, carcinogenic food additives. Endangered species can be hunted for a fee. Industrial waste can be pumped into drinking water sources to save minimal amounts of expense. Peter Brabeck-Letmathe, Nestle CEO, believes water should be privatised. Clean energy technologies can be ignored because fossil fuels are more profitable. Workers are exploited by their bosses for profit. Animals are treated like slaves, locked in cages their entire lives so as to save space and produce higher yields of food. Cows are overbred, causing alarming amounts of methane to go into the atmosphere, which is worse for climate change than carbon emissions. Technologies are suppressed because they put the wellbeing of the people first. Lobbyists legally bribe politicians to look out for their interests over those who put them in power. Politicians then use their friends in the media to twist things so as to make the people think it's in their best interests. Wars and overthrowing foreign governments are a means to make money and take wealth. Sweatshop workers that produce items they can't afford to buy can't **** themselves anymore because factories in the poorer countries that provide for the wealthy countries have installed suicide nets on the outside of the crumbling towers. Big companies like Walmart make money off dead workers by insuring them, and banking on their death, as those employees are more valuable dead than alive (see dead peasant contracts). Free education and healthcare is seen as a cost rather than an investment. Taxes raised by the people for the people subsidise companies rather than letting them fail. Capitalism is making it legal to run over protestors in North Dakota, and adding 'standing still' in the definition of rioting. Attraction starts at the wallet, not the mouth. Capitalise on the weaknesses of others for your own gain. Dog eat dog. Big dog eat little dog. Let a child in the developing world starve to death every ten seconds whilst people in the developed world overeat and develop serious health problems, because giving stuff away to those in need makes no sense whatsoever if money can't be made from it.
Capitalism in a sentence: 'isn't capitalism great, Tina?'
'It's wonderful, Gerald. Thank god capitalism protects us from collective ownership of the workplace and a fair share in the profit and higher public spending'.

Don't dare tell me that capitalism is moral and just.
Mouthpiece Nov 2015
I see the wheels turning;
Cities building and forests burning,
Streetlights flashing, stomachs churning.
The lining of my guts paint the powers beneath the sky.
Our leaders ignoring,
'Peacetime is boring, non-whites need deporting;
******* for snorting. My ivory tower will be safe in the morning,
And those ******* worlds away will do nothing but die'.

Playing with fire will get you burnt,
And soon enough it will be your turn.

Silent remains our demonstrations.
Their will be forced on any nation
Who chooses to change direction,
Away from democracy's boot kicking down their door.
One child dies of starvation
Every ten seconds, because death and destruction
And fear are all that is needed for life to function.
'Fund both sides and let the poor slaughter themselves with war'.

Playing with fire will get you burnt,
And soon enough it will be your turn.
I'm angry. I'm angry because British politicians are calling a pacifist vegetarian radical because he doesn't want to **** thousands of people half way around the world and impoverish his people further. And it looks certain that the government of my country are going to bomb Syria, and pass the bill to me. I'm angry because a Palastinian has been sentenced to death by the House of Sau of Arabia because of poetry and abondoning his faith. The West shakes hands and rolls out the red carpet for these monsters. Isn't that evidence enough that they don't care for anything just or humane in this world? They don't care about freedom! They care about profit.
Mouthpiece Feb 2016
There's no need to explain why I was there,
Where the air shuns character for purpose,
Where you sweat buckets under the sheets
And the days just come and go.
There's no need to explain why my bones creaked,
Or why I found it hard to swallow
Because there's a withered old man in the bed beside me,
And 'he might not make tomorrow'.

That's what a nurse told me;
His condition was the worst they'd seen
During his stay. This was my first day,
So I couldn't reply; instead I'd lie
Motionless and listen to what they had to say.
They called him bitter and twisted;
Like every word he hissed was a closed fist
That he threw and made them kiss it;

But I didn't even know his name;
He sat in silence, blankly gazing at the TV
As the hours stumbled by, without a glint
In his eyes. I wanted to ask him what it
Felt like knowing he could die at any moment,
But I couldn't find the nerve to do it;
So I kept quiet, and kept watching
Until dusk set in and he said

'I'd normally want a penny for my thoughts,
But what good would it do me now?
So whatever you want to say, say it, but
Cut the *******; I've said a thousand times
That I don't want to die--not yet,
I have regrets that I need to overcome;
So let's get this done and dusted'.
I asked him

'What did you used to do?'
'I used to burn cigarettes', he replied.
'I used to burn cigarettes, but not to smoke;
I'd watch the ash hold firm until it reached the ****
Then watch it fall apart and float away in the breeze.
Now I'm here, not at ease, holding on tight,
Waiting for the final hour, watching the
Minute hand creep its way towards midnight'.

He turned away after that,
And I immediately wanted to ask
What it meant, but away he went,
Drifting off to nostalgia, to days
In the shade sipping ice cold lemonade,
Until he succumb to sleep.
He looked at peace, softly
Inhaling and exhaling beneath the sheets.

The morning came, and I sat up;
Nurses were all around him trying
To calm a fuss, but no machines buzzed
Or sounded alarms. It was a haze,
But from what I can remember,
The old man had only refused some grapes
Because he wanted to stay asleep.
That's what he told me anyway.

After a while, when the nurses left,
He asked if I had any questions;
I asked him about his regrets
And without hesitation, he said
'I wish I'd slept around more,
Caught a couple of diseases and broken some laws'.
There seemed to be a struggle after that,
But he managed a smile.

'Jokes aside', he continued, 'I wish that
I knew how to cry. I listened to every
Tom, ****, and Harry who told me I shouldn't;
They said what to believe but never told me why.
And I still can't--not even at this time.
I'm alive for now, but for how much longer?
I don't know, and after all is said
And done, what do I have to show

'Except a hardened cigarette ****?
A shell of a man who refused to lie down.
I've stood up to gravity long enough
But I can't admit that it will drag me to the ground.
I battled badly, and I've got many scars
Thanks to my wars, but just one conclusion:
It takes a lot more than pain to know
How fragile we really are.

'Have you ever had that dream
In which you're falling? I have,
And I know now that it's a warning;
We walk a tightrope called life,
And our subconscious is only brave enough to
Tell us that we will fall when we sleep at night.
I burned cigarettes instead of smoking them;
That's my regret'.

I didn't even know his name,
But that's the last thing he said to me;
I was rushed off to surgery,
And by the time I got back, his bed was empty.
He died, the nurses said, in a
Flurry and seemingly great haste,
With a smile they'd never seen before,
And tear marks down his face.
I hate this, but I stick to my words and post everything I write. I am starting to consider this a draft piece, but I'm trying to get across that life does end quicker than you can imagine, so live it.
Mouthpiece Jan 2015
Can you dream of a world without borders,
Where you can freely roam?
Or of a world without hierarchy,
Where you don't need to be controlled?

Can you dream of a world without money,
Where there's no wars to die for?
Or of a world filled with honesty,
Where there's no quarrels for more?

Can you dream?

Can you dream of a world without bombing,
Where all the people are equal?
Or of a world not built by slaves,
Where you are fundamental?

Can you dream of a world without classes,
Where wealth is no object?
Or of a world without inflated egos,
Where people don't burden debt?

Can you dream?
I was reading through some old (and quite frankly dreadful) pieces of my work, to try and work out how far I've come with writing and to gather inspiration for a new piece I've been trying to drag from my heart. I came across this piece, and thought it very charming, simple, but profound. It made me smile.
I have come far -- very far as a matter of fact. I still have no inspiration.
Mouthpiece Jan 2017
Fill me with your tragedy;
Fill me to the brim and **** me,
Lead me to the noose
That I'll slip my neck into;
It fits like a glove,
Stands out like your thumb.
To be sure, load your bow
Fill me with your amo,
Because chaos
Brings order,

And life before her
Was standing in line
Waiting to die.

Face down, beneath dancing stars,
Floating in your reservoirs,
Colourless between the clouds;
In the silence of the world, we drown
All else out.
We'll build a house
Out of our bones,
Call it our home,
Because chaos
Brings order,

And life before her
Was standing in line
Waiting to die.
For K, and about love. K has basically showed me a side of life I never thought existed, qualities in a human I never hoped I'd ever meet. K, you make me feel like a person for a moment of my life <3
For those reading who aren't K, there are a lot of in-references here that only K and I will understand, so you are forgiven if you think I've lost myself again.
Mouthpiece Aug 2016
It's Friday night;
I'm wide awake, scratching my head,
Wondering whether
I'm alive or dead.
Is that dandruff,
Or is it just dust?
Why must the sky
Fall on us?

Come Monday morning,
He'll tap his watch at twenty-five to nine.
I wish I could follow
The shoes on the telephone lines.

Drink myself ******,
Leave the maze far behind.
This is my life,
And it's ending one minute at a time.
Get busy living. You're already busy dying. Don't know how I feel.
Mouthpiece Jan 2017
There's a distant sadness
In your eyes I must get closer too.
There's a distance, south west
Of here, that I have to make it to,
To be closer to you.
There's nothing there that I want to do;
I just want to be closer to you,
To aim and to shoot,
To be closer to you,
Closer than I ever thought I'd be,
Closer to you than me.
I want to be a fool,
Be lost and spend my life lost in you,
To lose,
Just to be closer to you.
For K, the best **** person on the planet. Should any of you have the fortune to meet K, consider yourself extremely lucky.
Mouthpiece Jul 2017
I ripple in Prussian blue
I smother the night's puncture wounds
In circular ponds
Looking for you

I fade away
In shades of asbestos grey
And I don't need
The old me anymore

Don't go
Please, don't go

Your blossoming smile
Your singularities
It's pitch black
Now you've gone to sleep

Just don't go
Don't go
Mouthpiece Aug 2016
I've relied too heavily on the hair of the dog that bit me--
So much so that I struggle to define the line that ended yesterday.

You can't draw blood from a stone,
No matter how many punches are thrown.

Is there anybody else out there stuck in limbo?
Is the quiet life all we'll ever know?
Why's it so hard to get comfortable?

Gazing at the ash floating into the tray;
Would I miss that much if I left or if I stayed?

Living to die, dying to live.
I'll be ****** if Jesus died for my sins.

I was always ready, willing and able,
To do something ****** that proved fatal.
Why's it so hard to get comfortable?

Prerequisites too particular for the taste of my lips;
Are we kissing or am I chewing on bricks?

I need it; it's divine.
Why should you have what's rightfully mine?

To the people dancing in the disco:
Do you prefer death's tango or the devil's?
Why's it so hard to get comfortable?
Mouthpiece Feb 2018
Light pierces cracks
The exact same cracks that we
Wallpaper over
To quote myself: 'light lets us see what darkness made'.

Never bend to fit somebody else. You're a beautiful person; never let anybody tell you different.

You're on my mind.
Mouthpiece Sep 2018
obtain my prestige
smoke dimethyltryptomine
then you can @ me
People are free to dislike my work, free to hate it and free to try and destroy it, but don’t poemsplain to the poet. Don’t claim to know what I mean by ‘past self’, especially when you’ve accomplished nowhere near as much as I have on the back of not even being certain of what I’m capable of. It’s clear you have not experienced what I have by your replies, so, please, before you open your mouths, do what I did. Debate is fine, but don’t let your wholly incorrect opinions and unwarranted egos tell me what I mean. You know who you are.

To everybody else, thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart.
Mouthpiece Feb 2017
The apple,
**** me.
Take your pick of my
Put me in your toys
And exhale
In knots.

Skinny Malink,
Kitchen sink and all,
Yours, as
Is mine.

Our penumbras
And things,
They fall apart.
Char me, my flame,
Raze me.

The crows,
They circle.
For K.
Mouthpiece Sep 2016
A c-bomb is dropped,
Put up affronts;
Don't mind bombs dropped,
You are a ****.
I hope you have fun;
I really don't mind
Hurting myself more
Being cruel to be kind.

Bipolar for sure;
I wonder why?
I'm disappointed.
I'm ostracised.
Your hole in my head;
I'd rather get high.
I'm not that bothered
Being cruel to be kind.

Am I so wrong?
Are you so dense?
Force through a smile
'Cause nothing makes sense.
I hope you have fun;
I really don't mind
Hurting myself more
Being cruel to be kind.
Calling out unintelligent and politically inactive people.
Mouthpiece Nov 2015
With spit lacing the hand of this sharply-dressed man,
You grip his palm with a face struggling to hide the storm;
You're quick, but still stuck in the sand of supply and demand;
Life was open-arms but now it's up in arms--dog eat dog.
The big dogs have grand plans hidden by smiles and nice tans.
They dropped ****** and make a killing selling bombs
Stood in suits at stands, selling death and promoting brands.

Killing pays a higher wage and grants you better days,
Away from corner liquor stores and the bookmaker's next door.
Either way, you must ***** and silent you must stay--
Even though you're kept poor so they can always make a little more
And disobey each word they say and every single promise made.
Sadly, you're forced to take the route they want you to walk.
If they really cared, would they let you live this way?
'Wake up', is the call; 'your back's against the wall'.
In remembrance of the fallen soldiers, and a call to those that are serving in the forces to stop serving. Look at what they're doing to you! You are nothing but a money making scheme. If presidents really cared (which they don't, and is therefore a wordplay on the term 'dead presidents'), would they send you off to die? Would they have people from privately owned businesses selling war? War is legalised ******, and is done so because of the profit motive. Each war leaves a handful of people one **** of a lot richer, as well as a **** of a lot of people dead. End the reign of those that **** you, not some man millions of miles away in rags and sandals.
Mouthpiece Mar 2016
Misery ******* loves me,
And I love her, therefore,
Don't try to give me pity;
I don't need your remorse.
Misery ******* loves me;
She's got my life right on course.
Her best gift is empathy,
And she does not distort.

The silence of the of the world is deafening;
It hurts no more than it comforts me.
Famine, war, and pestilence
Straighten up my spine and ***** my neck.
Strangle out benevolence
Because I'm not ready to smile yet.
The silence of the world is deafening,
And I trust in nothing but my misery.

Misery ******* loves me,
Of that I'm sure;
She flourishes in my company,
But I need her more.
Misery ******* loves me,
And I feel adored;
She will sing my eulogy
When I finally die by the sword.

The silence of the world is deafening;
It hurts no less than it comforts me.
Knife to a gun fight;
There's no need to shoot me, I'll give myself a slice.
Overcast days soon turn to night,
But it's always fine and sunny in society's eyes.
The silence of the world is deafening,
And I trust in nothing but my misery.
Happiness can manifest in the strangest of places, hence this piece. I wrote it to help me realise that I am sane in insanity, I am not smiling in the realm of the ill-informed; the atrocities the world over are not handed out to people for them to see. One must research. If ignorance is bliss, knock the smile off my face.
Mouthpiece Sep 2015
You have probably been flushed down the lavatory,
Before you had the opportunity to love me.
For that reason alone, you should consider yourself lucky.
Slitting the throat of all things considered fate, destiny, and so on. You can fall in love with anybody, and you can become anything.
Mouthpiece Jun 2018
and their
covalent bonds
are the foundations
i’m built on

the galaxy is full
of my twinkling
molecular compounds

and i circumnavigate both

they’re one in the same,
the universe
my nerves and my veins

and i will die later,
my dilator;
i look forward to seeing
my past self
there with you again
Thank you to everybody for making this piece be selected for the Daily! I’m always grateful that my poems are even acknowledged by one or two people, let alone by you so many of you.

I’ve also some very, very exciting news. And I guess this place is to break it, since here is where it all started. I’ve been working on an anthology, which includes poems on here and some previously unreleased material I’ve been writing on! It’s due to be completely by the end of the year, and, hopefully, be on shelves very shortly! Keep your eyes open, loves, and thank you all again ❤️.

As for the poem itself, here is some info:

Every single person on the planet know about N,N Dimethyltryptomine. Everybody, without exception. Thousands of people who have taken it experience the exact same high: bright colours, the sensation of the souls being ejected, and then meeting the most omnipotent, loving, wise entities, and they all report that they know that place, that other dimension, better than this plain insofar as to say that that spiritual realm is the real reality. We have lost our way with spirituality; people are of either juxtaposed school of though: science or religion. Organised religion cannot solve the problems the world faces; science is lonely and cold. Spirituality is sublation of the two. Please, research it and try it. It will change your life.
Mouthpiece Jan 2018
Rise with me all night
I've got your moon
Lassoed around my mind

Ride my aromal waves
My meandering wakes
Crimson on your sands

I will occupy,
Your famished cries
They echo mine

Drag out your lakes
Flow between my teeth
Tastes bellyache-sweet

Shudder, quake
Burst through your outlines

I'll jar my knife
Into your heart
Feel each twitch fade
Mouthpiece Feb 2018
throw all the bones you want
to the dogs of war,
starve yourself
of morality's dregs
all you want,
but when the dogs of war
turn and behold
your bones
don't come crying to me
A quick but, I feel, important piece. I'm sick of America complaining about Russia influencing their election, when they routinely level countless countries, overthrow democratically elected leaders in cold blood. I'm tired thoughts and prayers attempting to close over the bullet holes of the States whilst the long, slithering fingers of corrupt lawmakers worm inside and pull out all the gun lobby cash they can grab, of 'moderate' heart-eating rebels being funded to pour more fuel on a world that's already frying. I'm fed up of ***** poltics and smears distracting the population from the real issues at hand, the utter betrayal of the masses, the desperate clinging to power only to rattle one's own sabre, the invasive advertising, the snooping by entrenched entities, the fear mongering, and I hope everybody else is here too. Don't ever give these ****** your undying loyalty; there are people out there who are far more deserving of it. The only way the entire thing can come crashing down is if we pull it apart ourselves. It's only a matter of time until the critical mass realises how ****** they're getting by neoliberalism and its proponents. When they realise, the world will, at last, belong to us, as beautiful, sentient, empathetic creatures. My pitchfork is at the ready.
Mouthpiece Jun 2018
why is helping people
a political position
rather than
a quality
that defines us all?
this fact never fails to amaze me.
Mouthpiece Apr 2015
Before we go further, I must warn you:
You've no idea of what you're getting into.
Please take heed of this, my counterpart
And, my friend, if you dare, let us make a start

Mother said this morning: 'you're in one of those moods again';
If only you could see these things that I cannot show.
She looked at me and asked slowly 'what's the matter?',
And all I could mumble in return is that I do not know.

I can be certain that this has
Nothing* to do with love or money;
As far back as I can remember,
I don't recall ever having any.

Maybe I've spent too much time alone,
And I know I can call it that
Because in the years of solitude I've had,
The walls have never talked back.

I think it's time the world knew me, it's only fair:
I've had a desperate desire to kick the chair,
Upon which perch the murderers Bush and Blair;
But I cannot share this wish because it seems nobody cares.

I look in the mirror and I *****:
I'm not the prettiest of boys, which is true;
But still all I can behold is the back
Of you as you walk away, not knowing my love for you.
Dying in your arms, some dream that turned out to be --
Everything has always been done badly by me;
That night I saw you I could hardly move
Or speak or think because I knew love at-first-sight was true.
Many cigarettes I've smoked trying to get you out of my hair;
But even though I'm losing it I have a suspicion that you'll remain there.
Every metaphor about love 'means something else', which is a lie:
The love I feel for you I've had no option but to lock up and hide.
And all I can do,
Is sit and write **** poetry about you.

And it's so obvious now: the two things that make me,
Are the very things destined to decimate me.

Can nobody tell by my posture that I'm hanging by a thread?
Rigamortis has already set itself in my heart and in my head;
Suicide has been here now, for every year, month, and week
For almost a decade now (I bet you didn't know that about me).
Every day for that time it has shown its beautiful face,
And all that keeps me going is some ****** sense of faith
That -- perhaps -- something good might come eventually.
Now though, I'm losing that sight: I'm failing.
The only thing I can see, think, or feel
Is myself
I wrote this about one hour ago. Is it comfortable knowing me?
Mouthpiece Feb 2018
smoke funny things
they'll make you
and there's
on Earth
if you're
high enough
A quick one, thought it was witty. The stigma around psychedelic drugs is not for your own good. If everybody took DMT or smoked ****, we'd finally find world peace. We'll know how little our quarrels matter, especially when we're on a spaceship travelling at 35,000m/h sideways.
Mouthpiece Oct 2015
Where I grew up,
Both sides of the track are wrong;
Yeah, life was tough
'Cause it was spent where no humans belong--
Stuck lookin' skywards towards affluence,
Spendin' each and every day
Wondering where it went,
While listening to the **** politicians say.
Growth and the free market
Mean nothing to me,
'Cause I'm not their target
When they yammer on about GDP.
They can try and jar their 'truths'
Into the centre of my head;
But us poor folk are like troops:
Each day they sentence us to death.

You're lucky to escape
Housing owned by the council,
And dodge meeting your fate
Up close and personal,
Watching it cackle
As your warmth slowly leaves you;
Living is a battle
That time puts you through.
There are streets the police
Dare not go down at night,
Firearms and drugs keep the peace
As ****** occurs in broad daylight.
That's why I say 'open your eyes
And take a look at what they're doin' to us;
Nobody will care, nobody will cry
If we're wiped off the earth like dust.
Wake up'.
A warm up to the next project I am embarking upon: Mouthpiece's second album. I have been struggling to write of late, so I'm trying to pull the really creative and raw parts out of me, by writing mediocre poems I don't care for.
Mouthpiece Aug 2017
Reporters say
   total eclipses are rare

They're wrong

Total eclipses are visible
   every eighteen months
      somewhere on Earth

Perception makes both I
   and eye
      the centre of the universe
Struggling to write of late, and this is the best I can come up with. It goes to show you how the media can trap us and how we can trap ourselves in our own narrow slice, our own tunnel vision. Enjoy your total eclipse this 21st, America. It'll remind us all how insignificant we are; even though it seems as if your country is eating itself alive, it doesn't matter in the end.
Mouthpiece Nov 2017
We live in our heads
All else is just beauty,

But you, you are third-eye candy,
Beautifully ******* up
  every pompous maxim I coin
    and I hate you because of that

Because the way you flip every detail of my life on its head without trying

Because how you turn every phrase I live and die by upside down

Because you're a breath of fresh air I'm not used to tasting

Because you make living without you around
  feel like a grave in the sand
    is the only place where my head belongs
Isn't it weird how one person can change your entire life in the blink of an eye? I tried to word this subtly but I'm hungover and frankly tired of trying to be clever.
Mouthpiece Oct 2015
We're all a part of the same scheme;
We all watch as our months fade,
And reach for the same level of free
When we rest and rot at the grave.
We all act on the same screen;
Love, hate, and regret paths we've paved;
The tears we cry, the blood we bleed,
The aches we feel, they don't change
From one to the next; nor do our dreams
Alter that much--regardless of age or name.
You can be young, old, or somewhere between,
And have a polar tastes of food, books, and games.
Brown eyes, blue eyes, or any shade of green,
You're as good or bad as us all; that won't change,
Because our novel, whose cover may seem
To transform, keeps the same text on the same pages.
Keep the above close, and you'll be set free
From the stuff that has often had us bounded by cages.
Pathogens and old age takes us all eventually,
And an ego should not be allowed to stay
Or halt the spread of love the earth really needs.
Please, just care and love everyday.
A poem about the ego that does not contain the letter 'I'.
Mouthpiece Nov 2016
You got your Mike Pence worth,
So I heard--
A guy who'd rather a child die after birth;
Born into the Land of the Sleeping,
Where hot air keeps bleating and y'all keep believing,
Breathing, taking it in, scripture and sin,
Never knowing when it's written with the same pen.
Time to ignore them brown folks again,
Or **** 'em if their voice gets to loud for their skin;
******* shoulda seen it comin';
Sure that lead in the water ain't dumbin'
You down? You elected a clown,
Whose **** and elbow look the same but he still stands proud.
Change? Give me a break;
The only change he cares about is the amount he makes.
A little critique of the Republican Party and the people who voted for Trump thinking he's anti-establishment. He's not going to help you. He's going to dangle you by your ankles, shake every dime out of you, then toss you in the gutter to die trying.
Written (or attempted) in a 16 bar style rap, because rap music was born from struggle, and that is what's coming again.
Mouthpiece Nov 2017
At night we speak
On shallow breaths
Our spirits linger
Upon the horizon
Reminisce of the set sun
Who's lazy haze slightly remains
The stars poke out
Amid indigo blues
Speckles of silver
Bleached lights
Reflecting in our smiles
Between flirting lashes
And blankets of sighs
We create a home
Safe warmth
Peaceful solitude
In the arms of another
Deep into the eve
Fingers explore
As lips quietly speak
Sweet secrets
Ears promise to keep
Alone and true
Our skin howls at the moon
Tongues alude
Stoking our passion
Oxygen seeps in
With our relaxing breaths
We combust and collide
Like flaming ships
Lost at sea in the night
Our souls merge
Soldered into one
We've discovered that
Home is here and
Lost is
Simply wondering
This is one of the poems you wrote me. And I love it as much as I did then. I still love you as much as I did then. I don't want you to go away. I only want to know that you love me. I'll forever be Eme. I'm nothing else, just Eme.
She needs to see this. She really needs to see this.
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