So as I approach the all to familiar landscape I used to call my home, I look up to the sky above and, well what do you know...
Its beginning to rain, just a bit of light drizzle overhead.
Yet I know once I step foot off this bus and on to solid ground.
The heavens they will open and the umbrellas will be out.
I shall be soaked from head to foot.
In precipitation and perspiration whilst  running for shelter from the storm.
It's kind of irritating but it also what keeps me warm.
The knowledge that it doesn't change whilst I am away.
This dank and dismal place called Manchester.
Can still brighten up the grey.

Beautiful Grey and Darkness**


Stream and leaves decay.

Navy green, brown, clay-blue.

Subtle shades.


Cold bones, wandering mind.

What am I looking for?


Hidden world

Creep over my body.

Take me slowly.

Reality slips away and another replaces it.

Two actors, one protagonist.


Pale and melted

Colour floats on the water.

Dancing, finding

Folds and creases.

Reflections, refractions.


Mild cold

Makes its home in the empty spaces

Between fabric and skin.

Goosebumps.


In-between, twill.

everything and nothing.

experience and oblivion.


Hide me, let me

freely wander

inner worlds.

Careless in

Beautiful grey and darkness.

if we were to live in my own little world
how the skies would be covered with silly grey clouds.
where the gloominess darkens the clearest blues
and the rain glistens like it was sent from the heavens.
where the winds blow with private tales of the world
and the trees whisper the secrets of the night.
you might not like the lifestyle there,
but i truly enjoy the greys.

Windy torrents of water and thunders echo
against a silent brown house,
It's large grey doors open, shrill voices sing,
chandeliers burn...
more sounds are heard outside, like a hailing.
chandeliers burning the ceiling...
statue wax ivory figures melt, burning in their
passion, melting turned violet red they have become
hopeful, promises of painless joys, power over
wars, famine, disease and all things of darkness
are whispered in hushed sincerity and prayers
but still vague and opaque.
Even now a banging of hail, leaves upon a pane
all the doors blow open now
and with a shriek all of wind in the drops are
scattered drenching, so even the mid morning rain
can still drip earth upon the clear white figures
revealing their true origin
rendered **** by what once made them.

And it faded to a dull ache
never quite leaving
never quite the same
a permanent grey cloud
over our collective landscape

Cracked images
Stained glass
Each piece arranged
In an interlacing jaggered masterpiece
Tears fall
Tracing paths
Highlighting the intricate symbols
Liquid crystals in the dying light
Sparkling pearls upon living glass
Dexterous additions
To the visual symphony.

The storm grows
The heavens pour
Colours flash amongst the greys
It tastes like salt.

There once was a time
I had a head and a heart
But no mind
No line
That was drawn
To protect me
From love.
From fear.

Consumed,
I wait in the grainy Fog.
It settles on my nose
Eyelashes,
Ears.

The fear is silent
Yet so loud
I cant help but scream
To overcome it.

Weary
Of this love
I want to shove it
Away

Now what do I say
To my dear friend,
My Love,
Who no longer sees me the same way?

Yet still wants to be close to me,
Pulls for me.
Calls to me.

Alas, all I see
Hear
Smell
is Fog.
Well
where is this
Hell
of a line now?

How
Do I tell
What I need.
Do I feed my heart or my mind
Do what I need, and draw this line?
Or what I want, and indulge?

The fog remains
As a stain.
The answer, I cannot find.

The crows cawed out with harsh, sorrowful cries as we drove up.
I fumbled to pull my phone out of my pocket,
and asked my mom to pull over.
She gave me an odd look,
but did so all the same.

It was a true ****** of crows,
like none you have ever seen in your life.
Black on the gray sky,
they swooped,
each feather a silhouette against the shades.

They sat on street wires,
balanced on wobbly tree branches,
and pecked at the ground.
Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred? Three hundred?
Too many to count.

I walked around the sidewalk in awe,
as in waves they would lift from the ground,
soar as one,
before lighting back down,
as if nothing had happened.

The busy cars whirred by on all sides of the small, road-boardered area. What a great welcome to your new home.
Would you have taken it as a bad sign?
Something of that majesty?

Grey clouds roll in
Over Mount Fuji
– Miyazaki –