A wall is a canvas
For my twisted thoughts to paint themselves
Into scenes of misery
As I lie there, staring blankly
I’m an artist
Painting portraits of depression
In the emptiness of my mind

Words find it in themselves to float around
In the empty plain of my head
Weaving stories of guilt and sorrow
In my mind I write epics,
Telling the tale of my own demise
An Odyssey, and I an Odysseus
But destined never to reach safe shore

All my life I'd been starving.
This world offered me feasts after
Feasts but it seemed that even if
I swallowed the whole Earth
I'd still hunger.

One day a witch approached me
Promised me a magic sack,
That with the right nourishment,
Wouldn't ever empty
'Till I die.

All she asked for in return
Were descriptions of dishes.
Their taste, shape, smell, in detail.
For she can only eat
This way.

And so I complied with it, gratefully.
She casted charms, ordered me to eat:
"Just open your mouth, it's there."
Feeling groggy, I reached.
I felt it.

So marvellous, juicy, so fresh.
I praised that new found piece of flesh.
She smiled. "Dig deeper", she prompted.
So I'd broken my jaw,
Ecstatically.

Then licked the blood off my chin,
It was sweet and sour, just served.
How much further must I dig
For this feast's main course?

My beating
Heart.

His cold hands grip me, I can smell his rancid breath, he smiles at me and says ‘welcome to death’

My eyes start to close, my mind goes all foggy or is it my eyes that are foggy and my mind closing?

The last pill still on my tongue, my head too heavy to lift and swallow.

His cold hands grip me, I can smell
his rancid breath, he smiles at me and says ‘this is your last test’

I stumble down from my bed, did I just hit my head? I’m floating above I can see all the mess. I can’t go now I am yet to confess.

One step at a time, a little shuffle forward, I reach for my throat and eject the poison his cold grip lets go, his rancid breath fading....

sunflowers lean in the direction of the sun
although this sunflower leaned in the direction
of the warmth that came from the moon

the mysterious light that attracted the flower
not from what it was familiar with
a new experience and a new way to bend

--

although the moon sung with the flower,
pampered its petals with faraway words and
danced through shadows that felt so close

the moon was in the sky
the sunflower danced, lone
in its own lonely patch

the sunflower was the sun of its own
danced to its own tune, smiled, laughed
was so sure of the world and its offerings

but the moon had its own tune
a slow, cautious, steady, unsure
dance.

the sunflower thought to please the moon
whenever it could with its own light
to dance as the moon's stage and to love

but the sunflower could only dance
for so long, until a petal fell
from its yellow petal crown

the sunflower could not evaluate why
it danced for its love. it simply had
to keep dancing

although the sunflower knew that
its petals were falling off
and the sunflower had bent too far

the sunflower had its own frustrations
but the moon hurt wherever it shined
the moon's songs were so achingly
tearful

the sunflower hardly had any petals left










when the moon began to shine its light in another direction