“Sticks and stones …” the familiar saying goes
but words hurled in anger
are as sharp as a needle or sword:
the pen is mightier
and can cut to the core.

So, choose the words you write with care
as the wounds from your words
can fester and scar.

Instead,
use your words to praise,
to console,
to declare your love,
for those words
are the most powerful
and feed the soul.

I like to stare at the blinds until faces start appearing in the fabric. Smiles, noses, eyes-
they all jump out and morph into one. When they start mouthing things to me, that’s when I tend to look away. Sometimes, I look for faces in the shadows of objects lying around the house.
There’s a particularly amusing silhouette of what could well be queen Victoria that
pokes out behind the curtain ruffles. I go
looking for her sometimes on purpose, because I know she’ll be there and it’s
something to be certain of.

If I could inject a feeling into my body every day, it would be that of certainty.
I fear I am an addict to the art of prediction and delusion,
so much so that I have developed an intolerance to uncertainty.
My therapist would like that I’m using that,
that’s one of her favourite lines.
I live my whole life in a recurring conspiracy. I firmly believe things are going to happen and am genuinely shocked when
they inevitably don’t.

But there is something so tantalising about allowing myself to drink up an illusion of certainty.
I like the control and
I love the power it convinces me of.

The inventionts moves on
To created the technological utopia
It is the time of modern creation
No Time for the technical phobia

The modern machinery
In rapid change
Replaces the old engineery
The old technology is not more engage

We will be the slaves of technology
Giving up our freedom
The old times a mythology
No need for old engineery custom

The future will be soulless machinery
The Future of emptiness
The Technology of slavery
The technology of hoplesness

I'll paint my pain on the wall
The battles of my nights
Making me fall
And inner paranoid fights

Every night I want to start again
Won't break the habit
A normal life I won't regain
the drugs are my gadget

I locked the door
I can hear you running down the hall
Your screams I ignore
My dark memories made me pay for all

And in silency I regret
The steps that I took
My addiction made you upset
But you never saw, that demons wrote my book

gotta be god or play god
i wanna have control
something something perfect body
something something perfect soul schrodinger's stranger
behind my door
he's here until i prove that
he never was at all
there's leeches in my skin
i can ******* feel it
gotta check myself again
just to believe it
perfection is holy
and symmetry is perfect
never, ever stop
even though it isn't worth it

And now,
the only constant in my life
is my depression

I'm traped in a place
A place full of confusion
Observed by a demonic face
Conflics with an illusion

Traped at this place with many scars
Living without conviction
This space, with dull stars
This place full of suspicion

Traped at this place and it's hate me
Can't break out of those dark memories
And never will be free
Pictures in my head of those black stories

Traped at this place without hope
A place where I'm alone
This is a place I can't cope
A place, where I breake under the weight of a stone

Traped at this place where I'm lost
It's a place of gloomy fog
A place never endless darkness crossed
This place with an invisible lock

Still traped at this place that I know
This place is me
This place is my foe
This place of broken dignity

in my dreams
i am drowing in a sea of emotion.
my head held just below the surface of the water
and all i have to breathe through is a straw