zebra 17h

ive been to singles ville
arguing with myself
in the midst of emptiness
a dinghy in a storm
scattering me
while masquerading as stupid happy
i am a hurricane through a hollow
a penumbra of echoes
hot house of desire
needing a fast sex fix
all fools day
praying for the sin of skin
oh bilious cloud
solitudes toil
bodies dread winter
aching to be touched
maybe a cold slap against plush lips

where friends mean the world
and every slight
dries the heart brittle
gnashes teeth from a rattling jaw
on the verge of panic
a spire a desire
trawling whore for loves balm
an empty horn

Nathan A 3d

My body has hidden trauma
In the eyes of passersby, I'm fine.
No visible signs of the fight I undertake.

They don't see the tears flow like a river
The repressed shouting of self hatred
Crimson cries of the conflict from self inflicted wounds.

Hidden behind a layer of clothes and skin
Hides the monster within, the one that causes the pain....

Of going twelve rounds with myself

Alex S 5d

if your love-life is a jukebox
shuffling between songs
without the choral ecstasy
and lasting half as long
you can wallow down the mouthpiece
and shed a tear or two
call in to the Lonelyline
and ask for someone blue

if it’s company you crave
but can’t find a human touch
and the lexicon of love
sounds more like Double Dutch
if you ache for promiscuity
desire to feel brand new
simply dial 2583
and ask for someone blue

you might hear somebody carnal
who idly begs for you
or someone purely platonic
but wouldn’t know what to do
they might be flirty and 30
or decrepit at 92
but rest assured they’re bound to be
someone else who’s blue

Opening my eyes my mind starts screaming,
Bastard, it's yet another fucking day,
The end of the world I'd just been dreaming,
Which was quite gorgeous in every way,
Nothing needed doing nor needed care,
God awful screaming simply wasn't there,

Our naked bodies perfectly entwined,

Still, noisy screaming as I quietly lay,
Constantly streaming through my head all day,
I try, I try it just won't go away,
Ever present screaming all through the day,
Time erodes steady like a chugging plough,
'Til eventually becomes later on,
And turns ever so slowly into now,
Mellowing like sunlight behind curtains,

Our naked bodies perfectly entwined,

Still voices screaming screaming through my mind,
All I ask is a moment if I can,
With someone gentle, understanding kind,
Who sees me exactly for who I am,
Running on empty tired to the bone,
Needing to be touched, no longer alone,

Our naked bodies perfectly entwined.

Amber Hayes Apr 7

Here I am on a Friday night thinking of you
And there you are playing an instrument,
Not giving a fuck.

You've seen my posts on Instagram,
The only reason I put them up there is for
You to see
That I cry for you
Every night
And when you don't acknowledge them that makes me cry even more,
Every night
And that one time three years ago when you told me you loved me and went out with my best friend instead
-And my best friend went out with you
Knowing completely the suffering I've been through
From experiencing a love not red,
But blue-
Well now I fucking hate her and
I hate you.
Obviously that's not true-
But a girl can dream.

Sometimes I think of all the awkward moments and the verbal abuse
And I believe that this will allow me to move
On from you,
But that will never be a reality because it just makes me long to fit your approval
And I constantly change and expose myself
Over social media to reach out to you,
So that you feel me and want to say sorry to me but you never do
And that hurts me.

Thomas Hatchett Mar 26


On a little red flag from the barrel of this pistol
pointed poignantly at my temple, 
it grazes the flesh and draws precious little blood in a rivulet down my neck.
I'm tempted to pull the trigger again,
to see if the gag is still funny,
for if the next chamber is loaded, I'll laugh.
Loneliness is like a lake under freeze,
iced over and still,
and hard as fucking concrete when you slip.


Like my head on the floor,
like the door
behind you as you left,
like the doors always in front of me.
Ones I've seen opened briefly;
enough to vaguely glimpse
the trees and sunshine on the other side waiting.
But I can't seem to find my keys.
They were just here, I swear;
they were in my fucking hand.
Where the hell did they go?
Goddamnit I'm late, I'm always late.


My fist through a wall that I wish was my skull,
or you heart.
The cracks in my bones are
the cracks in the ceiling
I study as I stare soundlessly, sullen.
I only ever express my anger in solitude,
and dark, where it can be hidden
by shadow, surrendered
and silently sequestered to my hearth.
My fire is burned low and I'm running out of fuel.
It's growing cold in the dwindling light,
and I know if I sleep I'll just freeze;
better to shiver and seize;
to survive, to hope to see sunrise...


She is rising and I'm blinded,
but I refuse not to stare directly into her shine.
She breaks binds,
brings back to life my corpse with her light.
I won't let her day slip away this time.
I was told that I would know it when I see it, and I see it
star-bright, burning brilliant in the sky.
I take aim and hold my trigger-hand high.
I'm not scared of consequences;

I'm just a little gun-shy.

Pagan Paul Mar 20

How I wish I could lay my head
down gently on your thighs,
to make you moan and sigh aloud
and slowly close your eyes.

How I wish I could use my tongue
and give you more than rhyme,
to bring a flush up to your cheek,
of feelings beyond space and time.

How I wish that I could speak
in words of feathered certainty
and so entice your curious mind
to lay down with me for eternity.
© Pagan Paul (2017)

For the Muse I have yet to meet.
For the Lady I have yet to undress.
For the Lover I have yet to eat.
For the Goddess I have yet to impress.
I continue searching for you.
Amber Hayes Mar 19

I bruise myself when I'm reminded of your beauty, and the
Blues and purples are nearly as satisfying to my eye
As you are.

I'll let the wind blow me into the headlights of a car,
So long as you are in it and
Your face is the last thing that
I see.

You unknowingly hurt me-
I willingly hurt myself.

Some of my parts
-The ones that are left-
Work only in memory of you
And I cannot shut them down,
No matter how much I want to.

I love not only the body,
But the soul-
The photos;
The memories;
Your smile;
The clothes you wear;
The music you make;
Your glasses;
Your hair.

There is a weight that is chained to our fractured heart.

It is filled by our worst failures, and emptied by our greatest triumphs.

We wish nothing more than to be rid of this cursed pendulum, that swings to and fro as it deepens the fissures in our heart to reach our very soul.

All around us we see those whose hearts are joined with a kindred, like the morning rays in the night sky.

And the pendulum continues to swing.

We see their faces smiling, as their hearts beat in perfect harmony, a symphony of resonance with complexity and depth.

All the while our heart exudes a lonely note, sharp and unanswered.

And the pendulum continues to swing.

Our efforts to remove it have been in vain.

Our triumphs are few, and our defeats plenty, and with it, its burden grows.

And the pendulum continues to swing.

Pagan Paul Feb 28

Though my boat is tossed
high upon these crests,
I fear not the deep sea
where the sailors souls rest.

Cast adrift, alone to float,
my mother Sycorax had planned.
But lo! I reach sanctuary
and dance ecstatic on the sand.

My grotesque form I treasure
but loneliness soon must end.
Yes! A monster I might be,
but Caliban needs a friend.

Paradise is mine and ripe.
Behold! A kingdom and a home!
The sun blisters all day long,
oh Muses why am I so alone?

“Hush boy! Careful of thy wish,
the scheme is so much grander.
For Prospero prowls the island
with his witch daughter Miranda”.

Run ugly Caliban. Run away.
Disappear, you must be brave.
For the Wizard has loosed Ariel,
your wretched body to enslave.

The girl holds you enchanted,
with promises of fair romance.
Feel her pull puppets strings,
watch her make You dance.

Oh Caliban! What darkness befalls,
a prisoner tithed with no trial.
Yearn, dear boy, for isolation
and the loneliness of your Isle.

© Pagan Paul (28/02/17)

I have always empathised with Caliban.
Enslaved by Prospero, teased by Miranda and
bullied by Ariel. Simply for being an outsider,
stupid, an ugly monster and supposedly subhuman.
Shakespeare's metaphor is rather apt for the way society,
in general today, treats people with mental health issues.
As freaks and outsiders, less than whole.
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