suppose I wasn't destined for joy
that the complex systematic masses and impurities within me prefer darkness to thrive better in
because what if they knew all along
how much one can hide where the rest of the world isn't looking
they wouldn't know if I never smiled a day in my life
they wouldn't know if I did

suppose the off white of my skin means I'll live longer and isn't a result of the fact that I rarely see the sun
suppose I tossed the fake sun supplements into the garbage for some odd soul to seek sanity in
consider it a gift, these worthless pills I never needed in the first place

suppose I loved this life
and hated it at the same time

suppose I believed them when they told me it wouldn't be temporary
and I made myself a home in the nullity

suppose I felt something

.

Your contradictions spawn conflictions in my mind
your left, right means up, down.
Your hello means goodbye!

I love you means...

I can't find the silence, you've got me talking in my sleep
your brazen, media-vomited words burn my eyes at every turn
a facebook generation of mindless self-indulgence. You're herding us like sheep!

Your acceptance means...

Our bodies a £1 per kilogram, a friend request per ******* picture.
All of the reflections have glassed eyes for our souls have been reduced to stocks.
So many cracks in humanity, a group for every side, we don't know why were fighting. To far apart to see the divide.

Your acceptance means I love you.
I love you means you will never be good enough!

Stearic Acid*

Out of your mouth came
the good intentions,
out of your deeds,
you were a contradiction,
with contrasting actions.
Such a contradiction of a girl,
such a faker up front.
Don't deny that you would speak
when I was absent,
don't deny that you couldn't
even be happy because
all you knew how to be was
immaturely jealous.
You lured me in with that
saccharine smile and the embraces,
but you pushed me away
with the contents of
your foul mouth.

This makes no sense like a round square or a respectful mockingbird, or a song with no melody or a rose smelling ****.

Or an actionless verb or even better a dance with no steps.
It'll be 2017 in a few hours, but the stench of 2016 hasn't dissipated yet.

The celebrity massacre, gorilla killing, spirit and dream crushing year. It felt so depressing that at least once we were all brought to tears.

So sing Auld Lang Syne to your hearts content and cook Black eyed peas if you please
Just let me pass through midnight unscathed, that'll be enough for me

Don’t tell me you’re open minded
When you squeeze your eyes shut
At the mere idea that you *might be wrong.

It's never black and white or gray.
It's more of a ugly brown.
My thoughts are like a painters palette
or a house that's burning down.

I am a walking contradiction.
I am six feet, five inches tall
But I feel microscopic.
I am a proud Englishman,
Disgusted by his history and absent
Of allegiances to any land, any country.
I am a nomad, but there is so much I haven't seen.
I am filled with wanderlust,
But also crave routine, and hate change.
I am a passionate writer,
But it pains me to write.
I am so very concerned by the world,
Its people and emotions,
Yet I distance myself, want no part in it,
Thrive off any psychopathic habits I develop -
I enjoy the disdain I have for most people.
I am well-educated, above-average intelligence,
But I know nothing... and always will.
I am surrounded by people that I love and care about,
But I feel so often, so desperately alone.
I crave my own space, my solitude,
The freedom of my own head and my mind's
Undivided attention, but it haunts me,
And I miss the feeling of warmth beside me in my bed.
It taunts me. It makes me want to die.
I am a walking contradiction because I desperately
Want to live, if only to achieve something worth
Being remembered for, worth dying for.
There's no poetic justice, beauty in death of
An ordinary man with uninteresting achievements.
That is wasted oxygen to me, and wasted talent
(if you can even call it that for)
I crave success, but fear I am talentless.
I am a walking contradiction.
Sometimes I think I am delusional,
But, then again, I am one of the most logical people
I know. I'm boring. But I want to excite, to entertain.
I am not funny, but I want to make people laugh.
I want to live forever and die tomorrow.
I am a walking contradiction.
Nobody mourns the poor - of pocket or of soul.
I fear that I am both.
I fear that I am a walking contradiction.
Completely devoid of purpose, of meaning
But so hopelessly in love with the beauty of it all.

constant contradictions
harsh words with a gentle kiss
cold eyes with a playful touch
a short fuse with tender love
always in defense mode
ready to attack, to attach
to a tone or a word misspoken
and my skin is thin
and my heart easily broken
yet I build makeshift armor
and pretend to be a hero
while you build and destroy walls
and you swear that you
love, love, love me