Target practice, aiming high
shoot these stones and watch them fly
see them hit and watch them fall
dropping bottles, one and all.

Line them neatly in a row
dented plastic, all will go
crashing quickly to the ground
with this new skill that I have found.

Knock them over, stack them up
once again, I just can't stop
precision like you've never seen
to rival Katniss Everdeen.

She had an arrow and a bow,
I begged my dad but he said no
cause with an aim as true as mine
he thinks I'd end up doing time!

So pebbles, sticks and bits of string,
who knew the fun these things could bring?
the satsisfaction is quite grand
to fell these items with my hands.

I love to see my Dad impressed
because he is the very best
but even with his throwing arm
he cannot hit the neighbours barn!

and so I laugh and love to tease
while sitting here beneath the trees
he tries to make an angry face
but laughter cracks it with quick pace.

So I call him my " Bottle Boy"
shout "line them up" just to annoy
and shoot those bottles to the ground
another favourite pastime found.

Every summer, off we go
we pack the van and leave
where we'll end up we don't know
we drive and then we'll see.
My family become nomads
we travel across the land
we see our friends and family
the time we have is grand.
We sleep under the moonlight
and sing around the fire
we live this way till autumn,
doing as our hearts desire.
We came here to get petrol
and lots of sweet supplies
the sign said "we have WiFi"
in truth, I almost cried.
It's fun to be a nomad
and live without a care
but it's nice to touch base now and then
to know the world's still there.

She walks alone, defiant
in clothes as black as night 
hiding her heart in shadows
never seeing light
she kicks at life and lovers past
and picks at healing scars
she'll talk to you in riddles
and hide behind her 'art'
she fears the darkest deeds within
her  blackened, broken heart. 

She has need of nobody
that's how she makes it seem
and only few will ever know
the glory of her dreams
but if she lets you come inside
she'll beg you not to stay
as love is never hers to keep
and every heart must stray

She'll push you to your limits
as you sink into her skin
her passion overflowing
with sweetest velvet sin
but when the game is over
she'll lay sated on your chest
then lock her heart away once more
at her haunted soul's behest.

You and I are missing things
set aside, forgotten.
Dust falls heavy on broken shoulders
dislocated by light.
We mourn the loss of something,
though we know not the tangible feeling nor the name of that we lack,
just that it has gone.
We see it in others, a smile placed,
a hand held, a tear dried
and wonder at it's heavenly release,
as we lay chained at Hades gate by our own hated disposition.
I will sing for you a song of death, while blackness seeps from unclean hands.
I pray that you will see in me
all that others fear
and find it glorious.

You hate my poems
You say they take me from you
that they're pointless
a waste of time
maybe you're right.
You read them,
just the words as they fall,
and say you get nothing
just syllables.
I have lost count
of the sighs and eyerolls,
the you have no talents,
they sit in a memory box
along with the times you've asked me to stop.
Stop.
Just like that.
Stop pouring myself onto paper,
Stop looking for beauty in darkness,
Stop healing.
You prefer me broken, fragile, dependant,
the girl you took from nowhere to god knows where
a once pretty, broken thing
to hang silently from your arm
while you talk proudly of the soul that you saved.
You fear that my writing will end us.
I fear that my stopping will end me.

We are nothing that matters,
created in mystery
while slowly dissolving to dust.
Pretentions and delusions our comfort as reality bites with it's point filed teeth.

We are not made of stars, nor moondust, we are products of all that has gone before and the destruction of all that is yet to be. 

I yearn to see this life through a rearview mirror, it's withered form a speck on the far horizon, for the hurt to stop as this knife in my back plunges further into my sickened depths, severing my spine from all it holds dear. 

I yearn for silence, for these thoughts to stop spewing from my acid tongue, burning my unkissed lips with a million wasted words while attempting to say only one.

Minutes turn into months, decades of meaningless days and miniscule triumphs. 

The stage is set, my role is uncast but the curtain never falls, I stumble wildly through blind utterances, dreaming darkly, while anxiously awaiting the applause that will herald my passing.

This is not living.

The heavens have opened
Let thunder roar
Let lightening flash wildly
Chase the heat from my door.
The rain comes in buckets
and raps on the panes
of my wide open windows,
wind rattles the shades.
Its soothing the flowers
so tired in the heat
as it runs like a river
down the sun battered street.
I'm thankful for showers,
with this deluge I'm smitten
the sun's shown no mercy,
now its *** has been bitten.
So I'll pray this storm gathers
more fury, more speed
and I'll soak in it's drama,
it's coolness I need.
Then when it is over
and all is washed clean
I'll watch the heat rising
the tarmac will steam
the wind will fall silent
it's gusts but a dream
while the heat bakes our bodies
and we dream of ice cream.