Turbulent waves of thought
begging to be surfed
my pen is my board

Thoughts break like waves
and just like the surfer...
a missed wave is lost forever

Raise a glass
to the missed waves
that will be forever mourned

Irritable insomnia
Such a stubborn scratch to itch
Unwieldy awkward positions
Fatigued eyelids twitch...

Antidepressants prescribed
For the normal and contented
No thanks doctors and psychiatrists
I'm not a broken person to be mended...

If I'd only listened years ago
As they were prescribed off label
Prescribed for their drowsy side effects
But I was ignorant and ungrateful...

How I used to hate bed time
Now it can't come soon enough
I just can't wait to lie there...
Snug...like a hamster in fluff...

In the USA the FDA
Gave you a black box warning
But in UK you are as they say...
As vibrant as a bright summer morning...

Mirtazapine, Mirtazapine
I lay in bed until well past noon...
No nightmareish dreams in my cotton head
A baby back in the womb

Starving noses guide
revellers to toilets
**** bleached Armitage Shanks
stare back at them
with a veiny marbling effect
akin to an ancient tree's rings..
Or some obscure breed of stilton

Once outside
icy air stings the navels
of their ******* cleffs
a knowing nod to their kind
a silent jesture to their fellow man
dolphins blow holes they both possess...

Picking at the carcass
of conversations
the mechanically recovered meat
of dialogue
over eager fat alligators clapping
for their suppor
basking in their stupor...

A dull evening
akin to a poorly written novel..
fifty shades of beige...
aneurisms, nose bleeds
and wasted finite heart beats
litter the centre of this stage

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.