It's a rare thing these days to meet someone who makes you feel better about yourself. It's hard to process that feeling in any way but love

Epiphanies appear in various forms, and, on rare occasions, they even come at three thirty in the morning with your pants around your knees.

The girls wear lipstick - red or black. They wear it for themselves or at times so like dogs or war criminals they can mark their territory.

The summer's rain starts smashing down,
Battering the seasoned ships.
It wouldn't quite be an Irish town
Without some sodden fish and chips.

She swears in multiple languages.
But in such an adorable way.
While I just sit there stunned by beauty
Without knowing what the **** to say

They travelled the world together to expand their minds and live fulfilling lives. Today they return to discover - they have learnt nothing.

‪The beauty of innuendo is that as long as you don't try and force it, it will always fit wherever you like. Just make sure there is consent.‬

‪Depression is being so down you want to stick your head in an oven. Anxiety is spending the rest of the day worrying about that logistically‬

‪I could never try to **** myself, not again. But maybe if I'm lucky, which is a different question, I'll get hit by a bus on the way to work‬

Some days there is a huge sense of achievement in reaching the end of them to fall asleep. The ability to get through the hard days is power‬

He who says escapism cannot solve your problems
has never been a cinephile with depression
who can sit and watch The West Wing in his pants.

‪It's hard to care about women and their silly, little crushes when most people are so painfully boring and you are so transfixed on your own‬

We are waiting at the same bus stop, but only for one fleeting, heavenly moment, before we depart, apart. I dream it's soon stuck in traffic

‪I had a vague goal for 2016 to have written 100 of these tweet verses by the year's end. I imagine it'll fall short which, I suppose, is apt‬

For some, it's fireworks and kisses,
For some, it's an ambulance and a fire truck.
I guess for a new year's wishes
Some get all the luck...

I'm writing with my tool right now,
And although it sounds hard and fun,
Unless one plays with metaphors,
The words are not going to come...

‪The world is a confusing place‬
‪And uniting those lost souls‬
‪Is left to poor Sofia,‬
‪And the pink underwear‬
‪That comforts Scarlett's cheeks...‬

Happiness can be bought.
One rises, one falls.
Children starve, blood is spilt and wars are fought
Over what shade of cream adorns our walls

‪To her, the I love yous were cheap.‬
‪To him they were heart and soul.‬
‪He misunderstood why she didn't believe‬
‪That she's what made him whole.‬

‪Who'd have thought that pink hair‬
‪Was actually cotton candy -‬
‪I tasted her on my tongue,‬
‪And then she disappeared,‬
‪And now my stomach hurts.‬

‪In a world full of darkness and monsters,‬
‪Is it too much for a man to ask‬
‪To be saved by a princess‬
‪(And perhaps her loyal army of puppies)?‬

One often 'as problems sleepin'
In ways which affect ones 'ealth
But 'ow can one deal wit 'out but weepin'
When one 'as a fear of their self

Waiting,
For the right time,
To tell you that I am,
Sick, sick and tired of always,
Waiting.

Don’t stand beside my grave crying. Walk away.
Wipe away those tears from your eyes.
I will always be near, I am here to stay.
Wherever you go I’ll hear your cries.

You will keep my memory alive,
For what your brain can’t, your heart will,
And it’s there that my spirit will thrive,
For after eternity I’ll be with you still.

In the morning when you open your eyes,
I will be beside you, buttoning my shirt.
When you gaze up at the starry night skies,
I’ll be gazing back until it doesn’t hurt.

When the soft snow is fresh and it’s too cold,
I will be beside you, keeping you warm.
When the rain is strong and umbrella old,
I will be there, helping you ride the storm.

Never stand by my grave crying.
For I never liked it when you cried,
And when I was in my bed, dying,
It was you that never left my side,
And because you kept my memory breathing,
I will never be there, because I never died.

I am a walking contradiction.
I am six feet, five inches tall
But I feel microscopic.
I am a proud Englishman,
Disgusted by his history and absent
Of allegiances to any land, any country.
I am a nomad, but there is so much I haven't seen.
I am filled with wanderlust,
But also crave routine, and hate change.
I am a passionate writer,
But it pains me to write.
I am so very concerned by the world,
Its people and emotions,
Yet I distance myself, want no part in it,
Thrive off any psychopathic habits I develop -
I enjoy the disdain I have for most people.
I am well-educated, above-average intelligence,
But I know nothing... and always will.
I am surrounded by people that I love and care about,
But I feel so often, so desperately alone.
I crave my own space, my solitude,
The freedom of my own head and my mind's
Undivided attention, but it haunts me,
And I miss the feeling of warmth beside me in my bed.
It taunts me. It makes me want to die.
I am a walking contradiction because I desperately
Want to live, if only to achieve something worth
Being remembered for, worth dying for.
There's no poetic justice, beauty in death of
An ordinary man with uninteresting achievements.
That is wasted oxygen to me, and wasted talent
(if you can even call it that for)
I crave success, but fear I am talentless.
I am a walking contradiction.
Sometimes I think I am delusional,
But, then again, I am one of the most logical people
I know. I'm boring. But I want to excite, to entertain.
I am not funny, but I want to make people laugh.
I want to live forever and die tomorrow.
I am a walking contradiction.
Nobody mourns the poor - of pocket or of soul.
I fear that I am both.
I fear that I am a walking contradiction.
Completely devoid of purpose, of meaning
But so hopelessly in love with the beauty of it all.

The weather outside is indeed frightful
Despite this the window is left ajar
To stop condensation engulfing
The already icy bathroom.
I disappear behind the curtain
Dressed in a much bigger version of my birthday suit.
Leaves are glued to that open window by ice.
I shiver, shaking until I have the courage
To turn the taps on-
OUCH!
An agonisingly cold burst burns my feet,
My right arm twists desperately
Until my skin starts to suffer a different type of burning,
My left arm mimics the dance my right performed just moments ago-
PHEW!
Finally the water overpowers my goosebumps
And perfection is created.
I can now unleash heaven out of the shower head.
I am being kissed by Niagara Falls.
Steam shrouds the room
And the music begins.
If only life were as perfect as this,
As perfect as a warm winter shower.

Her eyes said "yes" when they first met mine
Her smile said "I want to know more"
Her laugh said "this guy seems quite nice.
Who knows what the night has in store?"

My mouth said "Jesus, I'm being a bore"
My heart felt recurring themes
She walked away, and into the night
As my brain said "just in your dreams"

You have deprived me of sentence constructions.
I want the world to stop
Belle and Sebastian ringing in my ears
Again, again, again
Not singing, not music, just ringing
Like a bomb exploded too close.
Pink hair, cute glasses, cuter smile
Desperation and drowning
Losing you bit by bit,
First it was the desire to stop talking
Then it was blocking Facebook messages
Then it was whatsapp
Then it was now seemingly deleting Facebook.
I can't decide if you hate me or
If you are calling out for help and I
Can do nothing.
I didn't think I had loved you or known you long enough
For you to hate me.
I'm helplessly following you down a dark
Dark dark dark dark dark dark
Path.
Words are not making sense and gibberish
I'm just struggling to write through the tears
AND I NEED YOU... my oxygen
It's all I have left in my soul.
What's left if you love a ghost
But to **** yourself?

When you are a young white boy
You learn that "God" loves everyone
And you should too because
Everybody matters.

Then, you find out by yourself that,
What they actually meant,
Was that "God" treats everyone equally -
Nobody matters.

We are all equally irrelevant.
Just vessels awaiting our white sheets.

Sometime later you learn that,
While nobody matters, it is the loudest
Voices that have the least to say -
Idiots clatter their saucepans during evening discussions.

So as the blue, white, and red shine brightly across the world
While the Eiffel Tower remains silenced by tragedy,
It is the deafening strains of the bandwagon we hear
Struggling to cope with its passengers,

While the repeated explosions of idiots
Continue to clatter their saucepans all over the world
And the Facebook ramblings and Twitter chirps
Of disillusioned folks who didn't ever
Learn that their toys don't matter.
That their race or gender or religion doesn't matter.

Nobody, myself included, seems to grasp
The concept that we are all irrelevant,

Nobody, except those awaiting
Identification and burial,
Those who are comforted
By candles, flowers, and white sheets,
Who are whispering in the wind
The same question that eludes us all:

"Why is the world full of hate and evil men?"

And maybe it is in the acceptance
Of a spiteful "God", the acceptance
Of a mean, angry, vengeful pig of a "God",
A "God" who hates... Or maybe
It is in the asking of that very question:

That whisper in the icy November wind
That burns your hands at football matches
Or sitting outside in restaurants,
That makes them matter a great deal.

You have to respect a woman's decision to hate you.
Even if that woman is the one of your dreams.
You'll probably spend the rest of your life
Loving the ghost that briefly drifted by.
It might be a lot shorter than average,
But by god, what a way to go -
Death by love.
I can only hope she's happy...
Eventually. I know it's not a short-term fix.
I can only hope that she is happy, eventually.
As long as my renewed depression
Has a purpose then I can have some comfort.
An uncomfortable exchange, but, all being said,
If she'd come to me and upfront asked me:
"Can I give you my depression in exchange
For some temporary contentment?"
Then I would have agreed.
Who could deny that beautiful soul anything she wanted?
I can only hope that she is happy.
I think I need help
But I'm oh so very scared.

You define what this life is worth.
Fame and fortune are irrelevant.
The brightest star gifted to Earth,
Higher than the lucky heaven-sent.

The glove that is a perfect fit,
I’d jump without a thought for you.
If you catch then so be it,
If you don’t then that suits too.

For you are a poem that captures wonder -
Unforgotten and kept close by.
You are romantic rolls of thunder
Shaking tears from the silent sky.

The dew that drips from morning lands,
The white foam of a waterfall,
The sunset by the Cayman sands,
The nightingale’s vibrant call.

You are the beautiful view of a cliff
From the edge as you watch the beauty below,
Before I fall off and think you are gone
But cling on to you tightly and never let go.

You define what this life is worth.
Fame and fortune are irrelevant.
The brightest star gifted to Earth,
Higher than the lucky heaven-sent.

The glove that is a perfect fit,
I’d jump without a thought for you.
If you catch then so be it,
If you don’t then that suits too.

For you are a poem that captures wonder -
Unforgotten and kept close by.
You are romantic rolls of thunder
Shaking tears from the silent sky.

The dew that drips from morning lands,
The white foam of a waterfall,
The sunset by the Cayman sands,
The nightingale’s vibrant call.

You are the beautiful view of a cliff
From the edge as you watch the beauty below,
Before I fall off and think you are gone
But cling on to you tightly and never let go.