no more rush for the factory gates

or bleary welcomes after whistle led race

no longer the shouts of “what shift you on mate?”

and befuddled replies “earlies, no, lates!”

the comforting throng of familial mass

at the end of each day that held no disgrace

when a days hard work meant a days earned pay

something they somehow forgot to replace

as our livelihoods fled to cheaper climes

and our citadels of labour fell rotting, debased

Sleeping beauty waiting for her kiss
It's been what seems like years she's waited for this
You don't seem to care
You don't seem to want to be there to save this girl with your selfish affair
She may be unconscious
But her mind is upon us
She's broken
& hopeful
& she realizes in her hazy curse dreams
A man can't save her
She can only save herself
And with that,
she's awake

Once upon a time
I thought I was creative
And that my imagination spilled
like paint left to dry in the rain
Or perhaps I thought I was freshly-picked
Or new
Or exciting
Like the first leaf that falls in Autumn
Or a first kiss in the clumsy semi-darkness of a party

Now I realise that all my poems just sound the same

How do I erase this Janwar
that's clawing, gnawing, destroying my insides
try to cease this current
this ebbing self-control
black-holed sanity of clear thought

Everywhere I go
every sight I see
incomplete without my completeness
you

Stupidity overwhelming judgement
blinding direction of constant withdrawal
an itch

How I wish things didn't happen for a reason
for now, I'd be whole
without a counterpart
missing

A puzzle piece
misleading me to believe
that he
and me
as a we
are meant to be

**** that idiocracy
for whole
I am,
complete,
and you are obsolete

*s.q.

The yellow light illuminated from the street
I left in utter defeat
I couldn't handle the elites
Im sorry for being so obsolete

A spittoon!
onlookers
look confused;
it speaks
a dead language.