Julie Jul 16

I am tired of conforming
I am tired of smiling
I am tired of covering up
I am tired of pretending
I am tired of fighting
I am tired of being tired
I am tired of life

Lux Falls Jun 28

I am a demon
I am my wicked thoughts

An anarchist to everything
Pure, simple and true.

I clean my teeth with your despair
destroy your dreams with one simple laugh
I can twist your words like curls around a finger

and yet
I am my own demon picking at my own voices
hoping they would crack and bleed
just another ant on the surface or a zero in binary code
craving to be something honest
maybe even simple
up high on the mountains with delicate, glass bones
I want to cause celebration from my own destruction.

skye May 3

the shadows on my ceiling look like when the edge of a paintbrush wet with watercolor is gently dipped into a droplet of water and the colors spread outward.
the shadows spread to cover my ceiling and they eat me away until i fall into the darkness of sleep.

was about to fall asleep when i noticed how the shadows changed on my ceiling and connected it to watercolors.

In the cool evening of life's Autumn
inner demons desperate to release
a melancholic atmosphere so solemn
wishing to be at one with peace

In the inky blackness of the darkest night
haunted by a vivid breathless spirit
a demonic shape with me to fight
sanctuary sought but always near it

In the nascent warmth of early spring
my body meets the challenge of healing
this voyage on the big sea bringing
a fatigue inducing queasy feeling

In the lonely hours of April daylight
positive thinking to achieving my goal
watching birds in soaring glorious flight
through the windows of my soul

A confessional piece
Thomas Newlove Feb 2011

Bright, white beams stinging
The absorbers of light,
Scorching memories, piercing the soul.
Their power causes your eyes to droop,
And you dream that home surrounds
Your cold, blinded body.
Who would have thought
That grime was comforting?
For between chewing gum and sticky wall
Lies a body of endless exhaustion.
As if this soulless chair
Were the comforting clouds of heaven.
I finally depart this grisly place-
The Nightlink only brings one form of life,
Eyes reading me,
Underlining my valuable features.
This place is rough's definition.
I head to my safe haven,
The grimy doors transform into the gates of heaven.
The cold air blasts my tired eyes as I depart.
I am home.

James Sep 2016

The empty shoes stand in protest
in the field
and it’s like
those football boots
are playing all their
unplayed matches
still all shiny
and new
well looked after
and cared for
by a champion
like the memories
in the
left carelessly
by the young lovers
who have gone to walk
in the long grass
just like those wellies did
that now stand to dry
after fishing and falling
in the stream where they danced
just like those shoes at the back
all shiny and glittery
but frayed at the edges
danced on the stage
and they’re all a bit like
the little pair in the middle
sparkling new
but worn weary
worn weary
within moments
of their first day at school
but like their owners
did all these shoes
expected to be cared for?
because it’s like all these things
but it’s not.
It’s more like an invisible illness
that no-one understands
and it’s like these shoes stand filled
not with lives gone
but with people living
and forgot.

#millionsmissing is a campaign which aims to improve the care given to people living with ME. Very little is known about the cause of the illness, there is little investment into research for a cure and there isn't a recognised treatment. A protest of empty shoes takes place across the world to help raise awereness.
Knit Personality Sep 2016


To My Cup of Coffee

Hazy and lazy…slow of registry…
Yawning and looking round me in a fog…
All the day long a traffic jam-like clog
Of thoughts congealed and thick and movement-free…
Were you not there each dawn to liven me—
To perk my senses, set my mind a-jog,
And give my sluggishness the whip and flog—
This jello-minded zombie would I be!
And afternoons I’d feel a lethargy:
I’d faintly flag, and laggardly I’d slog
And trudge and drudge and grope through sludge and grog
Were you not there to fill me with esprit.
You turn me on and leave me all agog!
You are my princess: Kiss me! I’m your frog!

Arise and Shine

     I've heard it said
     To quicken the dead
A voodoo rite perform.
     But hear me well:
     You need no spell
The dead to wake and warm.

     You need but take
     A coffee break
And wet a corpse's lips
     With drops of Joe
     Until it show
A thirst for little sips.

A Drinking Song

I need it when I wake at dawn
   And when I wake at noon;
I need it when I wake and yawn
   Beneath a silver moon.

And then my thirst cannot be slaked:
   I drink a couple pots,
(Or more if when I waked I baked
   And downed a couple shots.)

And never dare you give to me
   A cup of voltless Joe!
You'll quake with fear to watch and see  
   The hissy-fit I'll throw!

Coffee, I say!  Give me a cup!
   And fill it to the brim!
Give me a cup!  I'll drink it up
   With vigor, verve, and vim!


To get to baseline I need a drug
Delivered to me in an oversized mug;
And if I need it, and I can't get it,
Holy mother of hell, I regret it!

Tea for Two

If you desire some stimulation
   I'll brew you a cup of tea;
And if you desire some relaxation
   I'll make it caffeine-free.

But spiked or not,—black, green, or Grey,—
   No matter how it's took,—
Tea's best enjoyed on a rainy day
   In a threesome with a book.


Sally Tsoutas Aug 2016

to slate
by ache
and fatigue,
unmoved am i
not a breath
drawn nor exhaled
as the blistering sun
a merciless sky
like a snail.
I close my eyes
and feel the pulse
i've become,
baked, a beating

I actually wrote this a long time ago one hot summer after work. Sometimes a state of absolute bone weariness can permeate one's whole being.
Rachel Hanna Aug 2016

the world in three
and us in one-
the air above
water beneath.
we can go
and touch
with words
what no

touch me with words.
wrap me with words.
breath the words
into me
let the air
the god
carry them-
but only

take me


we are not

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