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Faded as that 90’s graffiti on the train station walls,
Old locomotives, their engines cease to spin and sputter.
Little mice, too famished in their task, caress cogs and messages,
From places, too dark to read, the notes pile up.
Some, I think, may be blank.
Some, I could not read, as I scribbled those promises too fast.
A great mound of empty words made from a tree now dead.
The cogs move no more, I doubt they were ever connected before…


In line for a one-way ticket out of this grave land,
My baggage gripped tight with both hands- makes it difficult to keep in check,
I try to hide it with a smile, no one offers to help.
Surprisingly sullen, my every movement seems to echo from bold, cold walls,
The insignia behind the ticket master’s house is sprayed in red and it reads:
‘This was always a one-way trip’
I bite my lip, try to understand how to turn menace into sand,
This station is run by ghosts. I can feel them watching from holes in the wall.


I was asked by a stranger, “why did you come here”,
My staggered recoil from justice and reason must have been enough,
When I looked back, my persecutor was lost to an empty hall,
And the bones of this room can be seen when it breathes,
So clear, not seen the sun shine in a long time,
Startled like a bird falling into a pool, I wonder why I came here at all.


I talk to the ticket officer, this hat worn low, talking from a dark place,
I want to know, “the time of the next train please”,
But the man only holds my gaze, from beneath his low cap
Motionless, the spindly man holds all the cards, then blows away into the wind.
Left his own station in search of tracks. Somewhere remote
The sun is shining, and life is dead upon this new day.


Perhaps it is too early, I sit and wait for someone to talk to,
“You know that bag must be awfully heavy, please let me carry it for you”,
I shake my head and grip what is mine a little tighter,
“Don’t be afraid to let me in, I only want to help you free your light”,
But I don’t care for skin or bones, I set down my bag and watch,
The man of bones, with dreams larger than his stake,
Perhaps, if you were not so far away, you would have the strength to exist,
I look up to see the man who tried so frugally,
Met by dead air, perfectly comfortable- without a friend in the world.


I take a stroll down the decrepit tracks, cold air grasps at skin and sense,
Just to see the colour of the rust, and what the reaction was,
The trains and tracks are turning bitter-brown and discoloured purple,
Holes are manifesting themselves into the carriage, much less comfortable than I ever knew.
I step on the dead cartridge, much less comfortable than I ever-
Reliving a time when the carriage was bright, and laughter echoed the halls,
Far down the musky, dark-grey scope, I can hear the faint sobs of a child,
Inevitably, I find the kid, small and frail, sobbing into his hands from under his hat.


“Dear Michael, this carcass is the last place that I expected to find you”,
I kneel down beside the boy and tell him what comes from inside”
“You didn’t spend much time here when we were alive, I am leaving you Michael, your world is cold and dead”.
The boy trembles before sobbing turns to cold laughter,
He lifts his head and I peer into two dark and empty sockets,
Pristine, white bones contrast the encroaching darkness,
Michael tells me: “There is no leaving this place”.


The skeleton child’s words are empty.


A little while down the track, darkness pours from every crack,
Each train looks as dead as the one that was mine,
I follow a trail of disfunction to the end of the line,
Where I find a train, most unlike the rest, its silky black skin has been kept intact,
Monstrous, foreboding and intimidating, the conductor keeps the fire stoked,
Red mist puffs from the window, horror stagnant beauty feels and flows.


The walls of the carriage are meticulously decorated,
Framed pictures resting on crimson silk, a life frozen in time,
I am not welcome here,
Presently, a feral scream from far away- the engine room,
A mad man armed with fire eyed fury,
Jackal Rushes through moment and memory in fear and panic,
The first thing in this nightmare clad in skin,
The man stands still, full height, coloured in… I look into his eyes:


I fall back through twisted carriages.
Light.
Butterflies protecting fire from rain.
I sleep safe knowing that no one thinks of me.
I am writing a book. One day a character wanted to say something...
Egg
When you’ve lived every human life there ever was,
You will finally be ready to join your brothers in the cosmos!
Look up there, really look.
The line of your sight and the path that it took.
Try to understand the truth of life’s vocation.
While you grasp the depths of its bitter isolation.
There is nothing up there, nothing watching.
Just a barren universe, casually mocking.
Existence is a catalog of aligned integration.
Just a system of knowledge and past information.
Your ability to experience in all of its brilliance.
Is merely the outcome of your required existence.
The world we inhabit, manipulate yet trust.
Is a game of mathematics that acts as it must.
For nothing can happen without the passing of time.
This is a terrifying, existential crime.
I’m just starting out and feed back is welcomed
You
Offspring! to all of creation.
A child! of its own constellation,
In the universe's own desperation,
To define a single location!
Along the dismount of concentration,
The ever growing degradation,
Bestowed the gift of observation,
And bound only by its imagination.
Grown by it's internal elevation.
Tainted by surrounding information
But powered! to stand up! and be it's salvation.
I’m just starting out and feedback is welcomed!
Look up there, really look.
The line of your sight and the path that it took.
Try to understand the truth of life’s vocation.
While you grasp the depths of its bitter isolation.
There is nothing up there, nothing watching.
Just a barren universe, casually mocking.
Existence is a catalog of aligned integration.
Just a system of knowledge and past information.
Your ability to experience in all of its brilliance.
Is merely the outcome of your required existence.
The world we inhabit, manipulate yet trust.
Is a game of mathematics that acts as it must.
For nothing can happen without the passing of time.
This is a terrifying, existential crime.
I’m just starting out and feedback is welcomed!
nellie Oct 6
A Blasphemous insult
to road rages
gutted pigs
and pixie tricks lying
on the headboard
over my too-small bed.

i am malicious
in the way that i am so far
but so very
in
and out
of my head.

dangerous foreplay
numbing cigarette snubs of kitten licks
i pull and tug
at the cancerous death
of Life.

wicked ends of
nights begins
and your lips all over mine.
on repeat.
like a broken cassette until i lay
vomiting over
this projectile mess.

and i search for
words that could
would
describe this
. . .
lingo of broken down
younglings
who for god sings,
and screams,
and do not know.

God, they do not know.

they who have screamed,
for Adam and Eve
and lay wrapped in each others tongues.
noses bleeding,
never-ending
eyes perceiving
what we all have been needing
darkness.

its shrieking
shivering
cries of madness toppled onto
eyes
you have been searching for your whole
Life.

and the mind-numbing
drugs
that you inflict upon yourself
digging your fingers into your skin
searching for flesh
and possibly a soul within.

we are the knocked out
lie living
generation of drunks

losing ourselves
in what we call
love.


n.b.
welcome to these past weeks,.
TL Chesterton Sep 29
Smile, brightly, and make the world ***
In every way, the world is okay.
Uncertainty, the dread of existence,
Fills in the heart for more than an instance,
But softened my dread, did I do today
In realizing that I'll be okay
And that you can smile in so many ways
Some days all meaning disappears
I sit quiet in my wooden chair
Wallowing in existential fear
And wondering why I even care

Drive my mechanical pencil lead
Into the soft tip of my *******
Laughing at how I used to think ahead
How I still dream of being a singer

That little ***** of pain
Kind of brings me back to life
It leaves a blood spot stain
On the blade of my kitchen knife

When you sew my eyes and my mouth shut
And tie both my hands behind my back
Then I can't move but I can't cut
And you wonder why I resort to crack

Keep wasting all my time
Doing things I don't like
'Cause later you'll find
You need it for your life

Never mind, never mind
I'll just wait here and die
I know you're kind, so kind
And would never ever lie

Things get pretty dark for me
But I always seem to make it out
Just take my time don't hurry
Remember it's so normal to worry

But do I really wanna be like
All the other popular kids
I don't care if they call me a ****
It's girls I really wanna kiss

So when I'm down
And really just wanna die
Won't let myself drown
I will force myself to try
And be alright
I'll be alright
Make me alright
I wanna be alright

I'll just keep stabbing my finger
With the end of my precious pencil
I'll forget being a singer
And study ******* credentials
And be alright
I'll be alright
Make me alright
I wanna be alright
lyrics to a song i'm writing tell me what you think and give suggestions if you have any please
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