Attributes of the walking stick
hung around like charity shop clothing -
bagged and ready to go

It was a switch that had truely altered time again
(\ - this is not poetry it is gospel.)and a shower which managed to scrub off a few inches of the ***** dirt

a sectre of a cultural conversation
that stands for nothing
whether i'm ***** again ot not.

The chip shop gave me free water, and i just considered myself lucky at the time
but its starting to make me more suspicious now

and not in the way that i've seen my whole teenage and further years as a massive xenephobia crime made to seem more convincing through dehydration

its almost 5 in the morning

Sneaks up without warning
Habit forming
Addictions storming
Dope burning
Stomach churning
Still yearning
Never learning
Its concerning
Its alarming
How I keep returning
Its disturbing
I'm not deserving
Who Am I Becoming

When you look in the mirror and don't recognize your own face
all ****** up you're a ******* head case
The type of lifestyle it creates
Feeling like nothing more than a disgrace
All you really want is just another taste
Of the **** that got you here in the first place

Old habits die hard I believe that to be a fact
Braced myself for the impact
Why do I keep on coming back
Chaos and calamity I attract

Nothing soothes the savage beast
Nothing I do brings me peace
I'm longing for that sweet release
Just a little bit at least

I don't know anything that's worse
Than this generational Curse
Me and my demons converse
Its ****** up when you don't know your worth

Hate the fact that you've got to have it
Do **** near anything to feed the habit
Head so full of ******* static
Earn yourself a straight jacket

How gut wrenching it is
To know
How many sunsets I missed
Because I was angry
How many sunrises I missed
Because I was sad
And all the clouds in between
Because I didn’t care

Writing poems at night
I might
Dreaming subtle dreams
I would like
Diving deep into meditation
Everyday I experience pain-bration

In my left shoulder blade
And my upper back
There is no explanation
To that.

But today I had a breakthrough
Sitting still.
Breathing,
Feeling my aliveness,
Learn to feel...

Years ago
I have made a promise
I will not feel this pain,
It might **** me,
If I'm honest.

I ignored all bad feelings
Learned dissociation
Back then, I must admit,
It was a helpful creation.

But now, in adult years,
It's hard to cry those tears,
Which were suppressed,
Because of many fears

At home
In childhood years.

She's deeply disappointed and angry as it seems
She lives in a land of broken hearts and shattered dreams
Unfortunate for me to be her mirror
I wish it was something that helped her see clearer

How hurt and abandoned one person must feel
Nobody to love her and help her to heal
She doesn't see nor her sorrow nor grief
The manipulation is her only relief

I don't want to pity her but
Want to feel compassion
I must admit for me
It's challenging as well
I try to be as present as I can

I'm paying my respects to all these survivors
I have struggles explaining how draining it feels
I feel worry, sadness and anger for
This land of broken hearts and shattered dreams.