im trapped inside my own mind
trapped
inprisoned
chained
and bound
i try to set myself free,
but i
stumble blindly
back into the darkn dungon
wet by my tears,slick by my slit wrist.
trapped
i try to untie my thoughts that haunt
me .memories that chase me ,
visions flashbacks,anxiety,tense
as i crawl through them .
im trapped.
i sink slowly as the night draws near.
trapped,
waiting
and waiting
to be rescued from myself.
but im trapped
in a cage that i built around me .

"I've been told that to fix the problem, you must first find its root... But you can't fix something that's not broken. I am not broken, just slightly damaged. My mind is like a thousand year old oak tree, and my facade as fragile as porcelain. My emotions act as a wrecking ball and when the night hits I'm nothing but a decaying mask. I fear pain, so I don't welcome love. I turn it away; a ruthless rejection, and send it back to where it came from. It haunts me, and in the night my own demons become insomnia. To fix the problem, I must first find its root." 
Or perhaps I mustn't focus on finding the root, I think the real issue might be that I am conscious that there are monsters in my head and my insomnia is result to the ongoing battle I have with myself and those monsters. Weather to love them or hate them, I do not know.  They save me and protect me, yet they seclude me from the rush of risk and beauty of bewilderment. When I lay in my bed my body feels great fatigue but my mind and my eyes are wide awake; ready to run circles around the world if they could. I no longer think that the solution would be to find a root or a specific turning point, but to end the battle of contradiction with the monsters that have taken over my thoughts and stolen my sleep. So do I love them because they protect me and have made me a smarter person? Or Do I hate them because they are the bricks that make up the walls I have built and they are the guards holding the riffles at the top of the walls shooting every single beautiful daring soul in their attempt to reach the real me? I will hate them. Yes the souls that have hurt me right after gaining my trust are the reason to my hurt and the nutrition to the growth of my monsters, but the very own monsters themselves are the ones responsible for my inability to recover from the inevitable hurt. They have Inprisoned me in this constant dark and uttermost thick desolation. It is because of how overpowered I am by them that I fail every single time in my attempt to breath. They are suffocating me and burying me in a state so dark I fear the incapacity to  get myself out. It is a journey of endless work, the wounds i have will eventually heal, but there will always be scars. It's like an addiction, even after being clean and sober the want of the drug will always be as great as it was the first time. So the fragility of my scars is so great it is completely capable to revert me back into the dark whole if i get hurt or scared again. i need to realize and accept that these things are inevitable and not close myself but open myself even more for the next person. The final solution will be to accept that the mosters?they are their, acknowledge them, deal with them, and never let them take over and do what they want with me. Then and only then will I be able to sleep.

The flattening of this moment. 
Hesitation pulls by and the years fill this second. 
The asphalt opened by the recent pattering burns our noses. 
In this coffin of olfactory citizenship, the town's halls are burnt. 

I am asked by the labels of stewardship how my knot is. 
My response multiple times heavies is the same, it is a question. 

My mind, behind the glass left behind in your watching, our gaze ritualized. 
But now forgotten, our love, now torn, our complete identity hidden, pulled away,set alone as the flu pushes it's way towards iur meals. 

Your intestines will **** down. In irritation, you open yourself for infection. 
The ants begin their flood. 
Bereft this skyscraper. 
And with them, my years of servitude, past, future and present. 
My future of, stripped away. 

Visions of my hands clasping the aluminum and moving the volume closer to its max. 

And this is gone as you begin to bubble. 
Inprisoned in your pearl green coffin. 

Your ears balloon and your eyes sink further into your skull. 
The air is not completely escaped the vessel grounding you. And transporting your cell's cessation onto more fertile ground. 

And I have lost you completely. 
I have questioned your love for me and I burn now. 
Spittle falls to my Oxford as I ponder my future.  

To move you as sworn. 
I. 
To say I love you. 
To move forward and forget all. 

To recognize the coal's glow. 
And to cover them, forgetting their resonance when combined. 

I will push this lie further into my future. 

You. 
Radiating tan. 
Covered with the sliver of silk. 
Red with the corpses of lives more exotic when crushed and heated. 

Did something happen? Was the cause your own?
Or a drunks from long before?
A shard of glass from the struggle of some prior Saturday?

I can't stop drinking. 
I dress in blacks and browns. 

And greys. 

The terrible muddled cover of a color neither masking nor portraying my innocence, my shame. 

Much hotter, I am told. 
The depths are. Ur I got away all concepts of torture. 
A new anguish from the ashes. 
Without absolution. 

Convicted that the cog's smoothness is a feather in the wind. 
I step into Time's antiquated machine and perform the rituals to spark its engine. 

The combustion, neither burns clean. Or soiled. 
It tells no story of the future I will hold. 
My rings burn in its power and my teeth chatter in the when-after. 

Hello mother. 
Brother. 
Lover. 

You. 
You who are bones. 
You who is the primordial soup. 
With ever hatching infant eyes. 

The most difficult part of the cold is not knowing what is dry or what is wet. 

Be it these eyes or this heart of mine. 

I transform and hide no longer. 
When my answer is given, the answer is;

"Which?"

Ourselves or the wounds she'd obtain?

Out  of  a  window across.  , across. Open  seas. and mountains
Gods great fountains  and streams of life .
To  drink from living waters  drawn from   a  living. Spring  of eternal. Salvation .
To   feast from the living bread , and drink the cup  of new wine .
Little bird don't. be afraid ,
the thoughts of your mind that  inprisoned you have long since passed .
Sing , Sing  like a  free bird Glory songs  to your
maker,
redeemer ,
King .
For. Your sins  once. Scarlet. Like blood  seeping from an open wound
, now like  crisp white fallen snow at dawn .
Untouched by foul beast  trodden down by man , or sodden by heavens tears .
So hate what is evil , cling to the good
and never say die to these things .
Remember them , bind them with a knot to your heart .
So when the bird man comes a calling  with morsols of worldly pleasure ,
remember your cage the times you cried freedom .
Drempt. Of blue sky's.
Fly high little bird your free
Fly high like a free bird yeah !
Book of Galations chapter five verse one X

A fly flew out of my window,
What a silly thing to do .
Driven insaine by the noon day heat ,
Out to blue sky's flew,
Out to relentles noon days sun .

A fly flew from my window no longer inprisoned in my room ,
To wandering sky's it travelled ,
to flame filled sky's belonged .

As evenings Suns. On Grenfell towers fell the night before the fire
like heavens stars shone in grace .

A fly flew out my window to blackened sky inflamed ,
and dark clouds circled all around in soot and fire and pain .

For in morning time Christs loving arms to the lost would embrace ,
and those below kept searching for loved ones to hug and hold

For our body's are no more than cheap disposable takeaway containers with unseen riches untold.
To every Christ believer city's await paved with Gold .


A ghostly shell of hell on earth stands tall above Kensingtons
Well to do ,
Empty houses ,
With empty rooms ,
Stand idle whilst homeless walk in streets of gold without a
Flamin clue .
Oh the many that gathered brought food love and drink .

The forgotten rose with banners Held high with anger in their hearts , to City hall with flame and sword justice for their dead .

A fly flew out of my window to hollow sky's of grey ,
To rainbows all around a beam of light struck its tiny wing ,
to charred timber it rested ,
On what was once a home ,
A fly flew from what was once a window
to blue sky's above .

The sun found its evening rest in the courts of God above .







...