Living life in muted means.
You know he's bursting at the seams,
suddenly.

Pressed too close to a strangers face.
Wishing for an open space,
nobody.

Staring at a fashion window.
Seeing what he can't be into,
achingly.

He doesn't have a thing to say.
Praying questions stay away,
silently.

Sneaking out the exit badly.
No-one loves him as madly.
Awkward.

Raised up in honey.
Now an angel in glue.
I never worked out.
What happened to you.

Bruised in this world.
A walking red eye.
I used to think about,
this, and I'd cry.

External, eternal.
And nothing to do.
Circles on circles.
Whiter than you.

Scored up in sanity.
Cut up in pain.
Metal and things.
A runaway train.

White lines and distance.
Your journeys end.
A crushed up nonsense.
No receive, just send.

This verse is so cheap.
It's all just the strands.
Of a much bigger thing.
I just sit on my hands.

Lost.

Chance dealt me a cold dark kiss
Planted it straight and long
I tasted nothing, except the abyss
Changing everything to wrong

So few people, church cold as metal
The things I had are gone
Aching tears, wilting petals
The things we should have done

Take away this photograph
It’s her hand I need to hold
No words to meet this epitaph
My heart once bought, now sold

The picture of my life thing
One that’s trodden down so small
Faltering now, without a wing
No soul in the world to call

On the edge of this, on the edge of me
Tilting, fraying, blowing, waving…

Blue stare, rapid, World ascending
In to the dizzy skies
Sick of giving, drained of lending
Morality never buys

Burning like a used up bullet
Melting mass in my slip stream
I couldn’t push, I had to pull it
Parachute this thin esteem

Clutching the empty space
Oxygen chilling veins
Miles by the second, sheer
Faster than it rains

My days blew out like a second sun
Peace came rushing with my last
Silence cried from my empty lungs
My future joined my past

Crushed up, flat, and in the dust
There’s not a second left
No music, flowers or a fuss
A stranger stood and wept

Phil Stewart 2011: Fictional

Torn twisting through a nonsense dream,

no places left to turn.

Deafened by the echo of mind speak,

struck dumb by words I can't learn.



Strangled by the hands of future guess,

tortured deep on the inside of me.

Dealing through a deck of memories,

photographs of all that can't be.



Flicker frame fear, conscience on a toggle,

panoramic everything pushing on me.

Stuck floating through ports of my past,

daylights' lost beacon, this mixed up sea.



Trapped in the dark room with the memory mob,

midnight malice in the shadows of sleep.

Paranoia projector, slide show sweat,

Lifetime Productions Co. I watch till I weep.



Phil Stewart Jan 2011