#disenchanted
I keep waking up
in the wreckage of a life
I swore I’d fix by now.
The walls don’t echo anymore
even the silence is tired of me.
I used to dream in colour.
Now everything feels dipped
in the same dull grey,
the shade of apologies
I never stop repeating.
Every regret has teeth.
They drag across my thoughts,
biting into the memories
I pretend I’ve healed from.
I taste blood
and call it growth.
People talk about hope
like it’s a light switch,
as if I can just flick it on
and stop feeling the weight
of every version of me
I’ve already buried.
Some nights,
I rehearse my absence
just to feel in control,
imagining who would notice,
who would lie about caring,
who would sleep fine anyway.
I don’t want grand endings.
I just want the ache to stop
pressing its thumbprint
into my ribs.
I want one hour
where my thoughts don’t circle
like vultures waiting
for the final collapse.
But I keep breathing,
out of habit or spite,
I’m not sure.
Maybe survival is just
a slow, uninterested miracle
that I haven’t earned
but keep receiving.
Dec 2, 2025
Dec 2, 2025 at 7:29 PM UTC
This song
Will never disappear
It will never have been here
But it won’t be forgotten
Cause the words
Will never have been seen
The chords will never ring
And it’s all come out rotten
Cause the name behind the words
Will never be known
Never be known
And the heart behind the art
Will never be shown
It will go unknown
But that’s okay
All our names will one day fade away
The note
Will never be replied
The ink will never dry
Cause it won’t see the light of day
It’s smeared
between the irony
This world will never see
What I was trying to say
Cause the name behind the words
Will never be known
Never be known
And the heart behind the art
Will never be shown
It will go unknown
But that’s okay
All our names will one day fade away
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
It's alright
If you decide
To be in love
With someone else
Or that you were
Mistaken in the notion
That you somehow
Needed me
I know that my heart
Is heavy to hold,
So if your fingers
Have gone numb
Please just
Let me go
As gently as
You can.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 12:58 PM UTC
last time we made love.
stagnant heat bitter night,
the smell of petrol from the highway,
the old wind out on the balcony,
our open windows,
our thin white curtains,
our industrial city,
our smogged stars.
and then –
our fast breathing and oh gosh,
when you slipped your skull against my mouth
i swear i could taste the scene:
some romantic technicolour western
we’d watch in our friend’s garage
on their old TV.
(years gone past)
your hand against my skeletal
cheek; our wandering minds;
our palm tree resorts,
our electric hollywood dream;
the setted sun
the golden beaches
the tangerine taste in my mouth
from your love,
the smell of our skin.
two.
alone.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
By a kitten's innocence,
A boy was fascinated.
"She hasn't met the world,"
The boy said.
"Have you met the world?"
Asked his brother.
"I know of killers and thieves,"
Was the boy's answer.
Not of sights, adventures,
Of love, life and its secrets.
By the world's cruelty,
A boy was disenchanted.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
And why
is it shameful for a suicide to be fuelled by love?
why is love not good enough for you?
do you know the heartbreak behind love?
the stabbing pain deep inside your stomach when you see the one you love
embracing another
the pressure to be perfect
the loss of passion
the gain of boredom
the desperation when you feel them slipping through your fingers
the harshness of a reality without them
a reality so pure and plain that it seems useless to live there
to carry on without them
because in the end, what are we without love?
mindless, heartless, broken, bland.
don't you dare tell me that love is not enough
the sadness of a broken heart, is enough to send anybody
toppling over the edge.
slipping away.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
We run from the rain,
Take shelter beneath buildings
And flimsy umbrellas
Afraid to get wet
As if the rain might wash that which is us
Down the street drains,
More sewage to be chemically treated
Before we pump it through the pipes
To shower over our heads
Safe this time as it is controlled by man
Nature's tears confined,
Man's nature defined.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
The day will not arrive when the bird awakes and thinks "Not today, I don't feel like attending to the worm."
Nor will there ever be an ant who sits back and does not do its part for the industrious colony rather living off the labour of its fellows like so sort of parasite.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
You don't look like I know you should; your clothes, your hair, your body and your accessories speak to a culture that I do not understand.
I'm not even sure I want to.
Before you cry hate realize that I am not speaking to the colour of your skin; pigment has zero relevance to the way you were raised, the friends you chose or who you are as you stand before me in this modern society.
The alien I find in you are the choices you've made, or rather the very few choices you've made as you've allowed the flavours of the masses to salt your very being, laying the foundation for the same row houses on each block, 'we' nothing more than automations that turn right, vote left and drive straight on into the witless death of 'our' meaningless life. Group hug.
I obviously am not talking about you; you read this poem and judge it unworthy or not and write your own birthing thoughts not yet authored, cutting yourself free from the tether of normality making the awakening of social consciousness possible.
Or perhaps I'm just another ******* on the train wearing awesome golf pants coming back from the game that takes more than it gives griping about life and those that don't live it or love it.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
Wake up to the pounding in your head,
Whiskey and regrets make for a mean hangover.
Three Advil's, a smoothie and 45 minutes throwing weights won't fix the evil inside,
But it will allow for yet one more day,
Of this sad blemish you call life.
Suited up, don't you look nice?
You hide your weakening smile behind your Starbucks tall half sweet nonfat double shot wake the **** up latte.
Strut your stuff,
Male model martini,
Sell another lie,
Buy yourself time,
Swipe another credit card.
Don't look that homeless vagabond in the eye,
Lest you see the need there,
And feel your own, answer in kind.
Rather make a crass remark,
Throw the keys for your overpriced sports utility vehicle to the valet,
And ***** about the mayor cleaning up the streets.
You pay your taxes,
You give to charity,
You've done your part to end world poverty,
These little lines go through your soul as fast as the ******* you've snorted,
But with less effect.
Your empty voice barks all the louder to be heard,
It joins the chorus of the lost as you sidle up to the bar.
You know the keeper, you tip him so that he greets you by name,
All so you can impress the charade around you,
Master of ceremonies for a freak show that not one of you,
The cast,
Can truly see.
Now you wake beside a beautiful stranger.
Rip off her skin and peer within
The ugly you see is the demon you share,
Drown it's harpy song with more devil water,
Pierce your skin and let it ride the needle ***** high beside you,
Into your own special hell.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
*** slave workers
Bent over stained beds
In forgotten brothels
Far from country and home
Have more joy than you
Or I.
Skeleton thin children
With skin stretched
Over illness bloated bellies
In poverty ridden streets
Under a relentless sun
And equally relentless culture
Kick a worn ball around
And feel more hope than you
Or I.
Flea ridden mutts
Runts of the brood
Feasting on garbage
Shying from the kicks
Of rotten teens
And sour drunks
Reciprocate more love
From the hand of a kind stranger
Than you
To I.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
I tell myself not to message you.
What good would come?
Our paths diverted
Separate roads for separated
Souls.
Yet I see your smile when I awake
And sometimes when I'm down
Like a beacon of hope
Guiding this ship home.
But you are not home.
And I am no sailor
Tackling the elements
And winning my way.
I am drift wood
From a wreck lost way out to sea
Long, long ago
Under a listless moon
And the only witness
Drowned with me.
So I will not message
And the letter of my heart
Will remain unwritten
Floating with the wreckage
Which is me.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
My poetry is not for you.
My heart is.
My words belong to the wind.
Emotions cause this volcano to explode.
A release of rhythm, of prose
Of joys and of pains
Of memories of today.
You are a muse.
That's amusing.
A tempest of a temptress,
Your touch sings maladies on my soul.
A dirge of crystal tears
Reflecting lost hope
Lost love.
This poem is not for you.
Yours is a smile that lightens
This burdensome heathen.
Whilst your scorn leaves new scars
Over old,
Like a worn patchwork cloak,
That no wizard ever wore
But this one dons with the certainty
Of the pious
And the loved.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC