I was hollow
And you filled me with sunshine
That I thought was going to stay mine.
But someone else now
Is demanding it.
And you're emptying me of it.
Life is giving and taking.


F.Z.N

Everyone’s sleepwalking through city square
It’s twelve fifty seven
And seventy families have bled black against Israel’s rockets

Come Sunday morning
The drunks in my hometown
Will be too hungover to recognise their own faces
While Palestinians across the world
Will have to sort through the bones of dead relatives

This country was built on colonial empathy
Freedom from suffering through self-absorbed apathy

We’re all sewn to our seats
Caring for nothing

Still waiting
for a friend to show up with beer
because I ran out
and I'm too drunk to go get more

Still waiting
for Jesus to hit me in the head
with a frying pan
and tell me I'm wrong

Still waiting
to wake up
without a hangover
and smokers cough

Still waiting
on a paycheck that is livable
and people that are bearable
pigs might as well fly

Still waiting
for that woman to save me
by accepting my flaws
instead of trying to change them

Still waiting
to leave my mark
on a planet bombed to ****
with an overabundance of meaningless

Still waiting
for peace, love
and all that poppycock
while I hide in the trenches of my mind
awaiting messages from
a war torn heart

Still waiting. . .

to write that immortal poem

Historic sonnet

Eternal song

Your absence sits on my skin
As layers and layers
Of melancholia
Feeding off
My flesh and bones
Until I am no more
But melancholia.


F.Z.N